ballet as anxiety relief and celebration

Like, as soon as I make a post that's all "Yay!" about this pregnancy, I woke up at 5am in a cold sweat with my heart racing.

A nightmare about losing Nibble had baby Nutmeg kicking wildly as well, it seemed.  Set in my old elementary school, I arrived to pick up Niblet, only to find she was missing.  Cue the frantic racing through the hallways of my old school (only more maze-like), and the screaming at teachers, shouting Nibble's name in agony.

Princess - who usually sleeps at my side - appeared as shaken as I did, I must have flailed a lot.

Anyways, there was only one way to reset my brain, that was a ballet class.

So, I haven't really had any doctor's orders about dancing.  I mean, Dr, W has said she didn't want my heart rate going too high, but like most doctors, she knows jack about classical ballet.  And likely doesn't know how conditioned ex-professional dancers like myself are to take classes and pace themselves through all kids of ailments and injuries.

Man, I hope I can keep dancing.  Maybe it's hormones, but I am looking pretty fucking spry these days, I'm still executing some limited jumps and turns.  And I guess my pelvic joints are readying to push a baby out eventually, because I'm pretty flexible.  Last night I had one of my calming dreams, where I am perfectly balanced at the end of a series of double pirouettes (unlike the weeble-wobble that I currently resemble when I attempt multiple turns).

So, with that, I firmed up an idea I had a few weeks ago:  I would like to do some pregnancy photos with the Nibble - both of us in leotards and tights at the barre.  With my belly in full view.  And I think I found a great dance photographer who can make it happen.

I have no idea who would ever see these photos besides my closest friends and family right now, but I have some regrets that I never really took any professional photos when I was carrying Niblet.  I've come a long way for baby Nutmeg, and Niblet's reaction and love for this tiny creature that now kicks me all night is something I can't capture.  When I was thinking of memorializing this pregnancy, it struck me that I look pretty fucking good for a 43 year-old aging ballerina.  I'm proud of what I've gotten this body to continue doing.  And I'm proud of my one living daughter, who moves with so much joy to music in her own ballet classes.  So why the fuck not capture some of that joy - for this baby, for dance - in some pictures?
 
Oh, and when I walk into class I say to myself, be this chick.