Strawbaby had a dance recital this week. Cue the sparkly costumes, dear in headlights expressions while watching their instructor for the next move, and parents with phones out like Swifties at a TayTay concert. This wasn’t Strawbaby’s first recital, she had one in December, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it at the time. I was too confused.

As many of you know, I always dreamed of Adelaide taking a dance class and one day attending her own recital. In fact my fixation on this dream probably started the day I realized how inaccessible it was. We were at Jackson’s dance recital, he was maybe five at the time and a two-year-old Adelaide was sleeping next to me in her stroller. As the little girls in their sparkly tiarras and tutus took to the stage I crumbled at the realization that Adelaide would never be able to join them… even though I did indeed have a child dancing in that very recital that very day.

Of course, this dream assumed that Adelaide would have even wanted to take dance classes at all. But that’s one of the beauties of parenthood, we get to have our dreams for our children before they are able to communicate their own to us. The unfortunate side effect of this beauty comes when we are forced to modify or let go of our dreams for our children. Under any circumstance this can be incredibly challenging and grief inducing – whether our child is not interested in our dream for them or if they are unable to achieve for it a variety of reasons.

In the years that followed I dreaded taking Jackson to dance classes. Seeing the girls in their leotards and pink slippers was too much. Then the pandemic hit, we moved, and Jackson decided he didn’t want to take dance lessons anymore. I was disappointed but my anxiety was relieved. When Strawbaby entered our lives and her preschool offered dance classes I thought, “she’ll love that!” and “how convenient,” and “omg, I’m going to be a wreck at her recital.”

I anticipated feeling alllllll the emotions at her first dance recital. Sad that Adelaide never got realize my dream for her. Happy and excited for my daughter that was. Guilt for feeling happy that I did have a child on that stage. Grief for not being able to have Adelaide beside me and frustration for not having been able to appreciate having her with me more when I did.

Miguel had to work and couldn’t join us, so it was just Jackson and me in the local elementary school gym they were borrowing for the performance. For both recitals I had Xanax on hand, breathing techniques in mind and exits in sight just in case it was all too much.

But it wasn’t.

In December and again this week I was able to simply enjoy the performance and be regular nervous about regular things like Strawbaby getting stage fright (which also didn’t happen). In December I thought it was fluke. I figured I was just too stressed about the approaching holidays and didn’t have mental or emotional space. Which was possible.

But when again this week I was able to stay present and happy for Strawbaby – and for me – and I realized that maybe I was going to be ok. Maybe I could celebrate Strawbaby AND still recognize how hard it was to let go of this dream for Adelaide. I fell asleep that night congratulating myself for winning at grief. For mastering the power of ‘and’. But also slightly concerned that maybe my grief (and Adelaide) were becoming too distant.

The next morning, after showing the recital videos to Miguel, I went upstairs and tried to prepare a simple post with the attached picture of Jackson and Strawbaby walking hand-in-hand. And then the grief hit me. That dream I had been forced to relinquish exploded to the surface and I found myself grieving the dream and Adelaide all over again.

When the tears had subsided I felt relief that they had finally surfaced. Right now, I still need my grief to feel connected to Adelaide. That could change down the road but right now it’s my main tether to her still. That said, how incredible that it didn’t have to inhibit the joy I felt watching Strawbaby shake her booty and plié her way through her dance numbers? This was the true power of ‘and’. The ability to strongly feel both sides of the coin when I was ready and able.

I’ve come so far and learned so much since sitting at Jackson’s dance recital all those years ago. I can enjoy Strawbaby in all her pink sparkly glory just as I can celebrate Adelaide and yes, grieve in safe spaces when the mood hits. What I clearly can’t do is predict when each emotion is going to take over, but I can choose which ones I lean into. My grief is not in control (most of the time) but it is still a part of me and that is pretty powerful. Oh, and last but certainly not least I’ve learned that Strawbaby makes for one epically cute ballerina.

Image description: Strawbaby wearing a white leotard, pink tights, and ballet slippers with her hair in a bun is walking hand in hand with Jackson wearing a blue t-shirt and shorts with a red, white and blue winter beanie. They are walking down a suburban sidewalk.