Dance, Dance

I used to have a rule about dancing.  In order for me to dance, at least two of the following three things needed to be satisfied: (1) good music was playing, (2) other people were dancing, and (3) I was drinking.

That rule is now out the window and replaced by a new one: is Z watching?

Dancing with and for Z is one of our favorite activities.  Sometimes I’ll hold him and we’ll dance together.  Sometimes I’ll put him in our “bunny” chair and dance for him.  Sometimes he’ll be on a blanket or mat while I dance around him.

I can confidently state that no person has ever responded as positively to my dancing as Z.  And it’s not even close.  Sometimes he smiles.  Sometimes he laughs.  Sometimes he pants like a dog.  Often he’ll wave his hands in the air frantically, trying to join in. Or he’ll arch his back and stick his butt out.

Lex recently said that Z’s reactions to my dancing is good for my self esteem.  It’s absolutely true.  I think it’s a fair trade, though.  I feel like I do a fair amount for him so it’s appropriate that he returns the favor.  And having a kid certainly won’t make you feel cooler, younger, or more rested.  So it, at times, should make you feel better about yourself.

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