My dancing king...

When I was growing up, I wanted so badly to have a little girl.   A little mini-me who would grow up to wear tutus and pink dresses and take ballet classes.  As my pregnancy progressed, and as I became increasingly convinced that little Nacho was a boy, the dreams of cotton candy pink tutus became more and more distant as I thought of the little boy growing inside of me.  And I was OK when he was born and I knew that it was a boy and that Billy would probably frown upon me enrolling him in ballet class.  All I wished and hoped for was that he loved dancing, that he would love closing his eyes and swaying to music, that he would inherit my family's love of dancing (and sense of rhythm).  I'm not sure how it is among other Hispanics, but anytime a group of Colombians or Dominicans get together, there's gonna be some dancing involved.

My mom dancing with my friend Jennifer at Des's baptism. 

For the first year of his life, he showed no affinity for music.  We would meet up with other moms and tots and a song would come on and children as young as 9 months would bob their heads and Desmond would just sit there, unaffected by the music.  It broke my heart.  I would try dancing in front of him all the time, play music while he was eating his meals, sang to him and swayed rhythmically when I would put him to sleep at night.  But just in the last few months, Desmond has been blooming as a dancer.  I couldn't be more proud of him.  His dancing is more geriatric than danseur, but he's getting there.  Even when I'm humming (which lately has been the song from weeds: "Little boxes, on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky...") he'll throw his hands up and do a rigid shifting step from left foot to right foot.

I can't tell whether or not he's going to be a natural at dancing just yet, but the seed's sprouting in him and I couldn't be more happy.  There's nothing like seeing a baby dance: so full of joy, so unbridled.  Just seeing him dance makes me get up and do silly little jigs and hops.  It's rekindled my interest in ballet (I take an adult ballet class once a week) and I'm finding the joy again in the technicality, the music, the letting go.

It's been 15 years since I last took a proper ballet class.  15 years and 15 lbs heavier.

This is him playing with a top my mother gave him.  He's doing the Chris Farley, "I live in a trailer down by the river" dance.


This is him going CUHRAZY over this little bear that plays maracas that my mom gave to him.