The Day of Berry

For those who don't know yet, Berry is my goddaughter, my baby brother Lucas' first (and so far only) child. She loves Minute Maid orange juice, spaghetti noodles and ensaymada. She also loves to dance. The first time she danced, she was inside her mommy's tummy while mommy was watching me, my siblings and my family's ballet school perform Don Quixote at the Insular Life Auditorium. Seriously, as the entrada started, Erica's tummy started pounding as if there was a furious basketball inside.

She spent the day with us today, she arrived at our ballet school as I started class for our second level kids; she was wearing her tights, ballet shoes and a ballet skirt made of tulle. When I started rehearsals for this year's recital, she walked over to me and held my hand. So when my students started rehearsing, she was dancing with them also, sorta. Mostly she walked around as the students carefully danced around her, sometimes holding my hand, sometimes on her own. She would also stand in the midst of the girls doing skips and ballet runs, sometimes shaking her hips and shoulders. Since we're doing The Nutcracker this year, she would run about with her own wrapped gift (for the Christmas party scene) or holding a clump of fake flowers (for Waltz of the Flowers). At one point, while my students were swaying and galoping side to side, she would sway her head and shoulders along with them.

This is how I always envisioned how it would be when I have my own child, while I'm teaching or rehearsing, she or he would be hanging out in the studio with me; kinda like Twyla Tharp and her son, except not as cool. Of course, there already is the constant harassment to actually have my own kid and not play pretend with my brother's, and no, I don't mean my mom as she doesn't really mean to pressure me, she just likes the idea of having grandkids (and she won't admit it). The constant harassment is my own biological clock tick-tick-ticking away, at odds with the pact I made to keep dancing for as long as I can. I truly feel that when I do get pregnant, I will not be able to recover from it and dance the way I am dancing now. I'm giving myself a couple more years. The thing that frightens me though is what if after giving myself a few more years to dance, I find that my childbearing years have passed? I have recently been convincing myself that I'm not too old to have children and won't be too old to have children. After all, Jenna Elfman had her second baby at the age of 38 and she was producing and starring in a tv show the entire time she was pregnant. A couple more years is just about right. I hope.

There are days when I have this idea in my head that I can live the rest of my life childless. That it's okay to be selfish in this way in this day and age, that I'm just programmed for a different life, that I don't want to eventually deal with a sullen teenager (especially if it turns out that they take after me), that we all die alone anyway as I won't force my kids to take care of me in my old age. And then there are days like today.