When Claire burst out of her dance class in tears, I rushed her to the bathroom thinking she had an accident. In between echoing hiccups, she told me that she wanted to go home, that she didn't like the class, that she missed me. Brushing back hair from her flushed face, I tried to coax out reasons for her sudden emotional transformation. The little girl who had earlier bounced through the doorway in her Disney Princess tutu was suddenly, inexplicably clinging to my neck.
In between stall door slams and squeals from Jenna, who was barreling around like a puppy off a leash, Claire hitchingly shared her woes: "The kids were mean to me." "They knocked me over." "I don't like my teacher." My mind raced as I rubbed her back and grabbed at Jenna. What really happened? I fought to stop the irritated look that flashed across my face as the bathroom door swung in. Can't you see we need some space?! Torn between reactionary maternal fury and polite, rational thought, I offered our intruders a small smile and quietly ushered my expressive children back into the public eye.
Holding tight to two small hands, one pulling away, one refusing to let go, I made my way back to the dance class door. Responding to concerned parent inquiries, I found myself saying, "Sounds like someone pushed her down but she's ok" and assuring them that "Oh no, I'm sure nothing happened. I think it's just one of those days" while inwardly wanting to shake the children - I had my suspects! - who made Claire cry.
Never one to quit (even when I should), I convinced Claire to try again and promised I would stay inside the room, even though it was expressly against class policy. Watching her pick up her princess wand and crown and take a brave, deep breath, my heart twisted. She looked at me with her big brown eyes and said in a sweet, clear voice, "Thank you for staying with me, Mommy." My throat closed a bit, even as I shot a look at the teachers murmuring about my presence. To hell with rules - I wasn't leaving. That is, until Jenna - so my daughter - had a similar thought and decided she wanted to twirl with her sister.
Scooping up her squirming mass, I tried to ease out the door without Claire noticing. No such luck. Immediately, her face crumpled and she launched herself into my arms. Pointedly, I asked her teacher about the situation but received no insight. Manners once again trumping Mama Bear, I thanked her for her time, murmured apologies and have-a-great-weeks to all involved adults and took my screamers to the car.
Two car seat strap-ins and child-approved snack and beverage distributions later, I slid into the driver's seat and sighed shakily. The rear view mirror framed a pink-cheeked dancer, eyes still wet. "I don't want to go back next week, Mommy."
"We'll see, ok?" I offered, stretching a hand back to rub her leg. Jenna pointed a chubby finger at her sister and yelled, "Caaaaaaaaare!" sparking a little giggle between sniffles. As I drove home, I worked the worry wheel - This was her first class without me. If she can't do this, how will preschool be? Am I pushing her too hard? Was this a bad thing to try?
"Look, Mom!" Claire broke through my thoughts. "My crying is all done!" She pointed to her eyes and grinned. With that, the curtain closed on our dance class drama.
Later, Claire spontaneously shared with my mom, "I cried at dance class today, Grandma. There were too many kids," a comment that added clarity to her feelings. No one had pushed her. Cautious Claire just felt overwhelmed by all that was happening and needed to find her comfort zone again.
It has been incredible to be able to communicate with Claire. At three, she is a chatterbox; experiencing her thoughts and worldview through her words has been one of the greatest gifts of parenthood. There's this little person living with us who is like us and yet so her own person. The move from point-and-yell-for-the-baba to "What are we going to do today, Mom?" has been amazing and yet, even with all of her words, we know that she still can't make us see and feel all that she is seeing and feeling.
The recognition of Claire as an individual was a powerful a-ha for me. That tug between intuitive connection and inherent separateness is beautifully, painfully humbling. I can only imagine the feeling grows more intense as children grow older...
There is so much that is "big girl" about Claire and yet, moments like dance class remind me that she is still very much a little girl. Watching her lose herself in imaginative play, sleep hard all cuddled up with her Moo and twirl without abandon in a pretty dress at story hour, Jeff and I are as awed by the recognition of her tiny, individual little being as we were by her entrance into our lives.
It's Claire's world and we feel really lucky to be able to dance with her in it.
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