Dance

“Daddy, watch my dance show. I’m going to dance for you.”

This of course means spinning. Lots and lots of spinning.

Then there’s me, doing my best to show how proud and supportive I am while simultaneously working hard not to betray my absolute fear that my little girl is going to spin herself dizzy and fall; smacking her head on the tv stand or one of the pillars. The scene that plays out in my mind is horrible. There’s tears, screaming, snot and blood. So. Much. Blood.

There’s some unsteady moments and tripping over her own feet. I’m sure I wasn’t breathing the entire time. I just knew, any second now.

She curtsies and it’s over. Thank God it’s over and there’s no blood.

“Did you like it?” She asks still unsteady on her feet.

I give her a big hug. “That was amazing.” I tell her. “Thank God You didn’t die.” I think to myself.

When did I become so over protective?

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