I'm still learning how these steps link together. I clumsily trip around the ballroom of life and motherhood and I wonder if I'll ever find the rhythm of the music woven into my soul. My feet feel awkward and I don't seem to ever know what to do with my hands, but you don't notice. You giggle at mama's silliness. The way I turn up the radio louder than any babies (or arguably any human) ears should ever be exposed to and the way that I dance silly while I cook dinner.
Your daddy says that I dance like Elaine, but I shrug and keep on dancing. He smiles and shakes his head and knows that he will live to tease me about my dancing for yet another day because he can discourage a lot of my weird behavior, but not my dancing. I can see it in your eyes. The way you can't hardly hold still a single minute (not even to go to sleep, sigh...). All of my pictures of you are a blur these days and I have to shoot pictures like I am filming an Olympic foot race. You are learning your own dance and counting out your own steps. You are finding a rhythm all your own.
I hope no matter how your life twists and turns that you'll always be able to dance silly in your kitchen and that someday far off you'll have a toothless grinning girl watching your every move and loving every minute.