Mommy Diaries: STOP DANCING MOMMY!

I’ve been having some trouble lately trying to decide what to write about. Anyone who knows my two year old, Lana, will tell you that she can inspire tens of stories a day. But I don’t know how I feel about sharing her stories online… because if you’ve ever tried googling your name, you’ll realize the Internet is permanent. So, I think twice before sharing any of her mishaps. Do I really want the 17-year-old version of her ripping my head off for posting the story about when she got drunk off her allergy medicine? True story by the way.

So I’ve decided to share the stories that only embarrass myself… which, again, if you know anything about me, you will know that I do this quite often.

Lana loves to dance. Turn on any type of music and she will dance the night away. Hip-hop, house, rock, she’s got moves. She does have a certain appreciation for Kanye that my husband fails to understand, but what can I say? The girl’s got taste.

So one day a few weeks ago, I decided to take her with me to an aerobics class. It was all about the music and dancing.

What more could she want?

I put her in her cutie pie work out gear and off we went. As we walked there I went on and on about what we were going to do and I tried to prep her as best I could.

We walked in and she was greeted with ooh’s and aah’s and hugs and kisses from my fellow fatties. She loved that. She smiled, giggled, and I even think she did a little twirl.

And then the music played, I began to “dance” and all hell broke loose.

She ran towards me with the strangest look on her face and started grabbing at my arms and legs. All Lana wanted was for me to stop dancing. I figured that out because she kept screaming: “Mommy stop dancing! Stop dancing now!” 

I tried to comfort her as much I could. But I had done it. Khalas. It was over.

The sight of me dancing had scarred my child for life. I knew I was no MJ or gleek, but was I really that bad that my child would try to tackle me to the floor so I could stop? 

After a terrifying glare from the instructor, I grabbed my things and ran out with Lana. She wouldn’t let go of my hand and just kept mumbling, don’t dance mommy… don’t dance…

There goes my dream.