This weekend wasn’t the first time I’ve watched you dance. It wasn’t the first time that I’ve hung on the edge of my seat, oblivious to everyone else in the room. It wasn’t the first time your very existence has brought me to tears.
This weekend was also not the first time I’ve seen what goes on off-stage. I’ve been a dance mom, albeit a disorganized, forgetful, unprepared one, for two years. Not long enough to be a card-carrying member, but long enough to know that it’s not all smiles and glitter.