When was the last time you danced for hours? When you threw all your cares to the wind and just grooved to the music?
I don’t know that I’ve ever done that. I’m simply not a dancing girl. But Tori? Tori’s got rhythm (as much as a toddler can), and loves to sing, dance, clap her hands, bop along in her car seat to the music—whatever.
Since her dad’s not exactly a dancing fiend either, I have no idea where she gets it from.
But it wasn’t until last weekend that we discovered exactly how much she loves to dance.
We were at a family wedding (although Tori and I sat the ceremony out. We spent the time running back and forth in the parking lot—yelling— instead). As soon as people started walking into the reception hall, the DJ punched the music up to Level 11. And when Tori heard it? Her eyes lit up and she started spinning.
She spun and danced and spun and danced some more.
She danced her way through dinner…
And when the real dancing started? Tori hit the dance floor and stayed there until we dragged her off it, kicking and screaming, at the end of the night.
She danced to fast songs and slow songs. Katy Perry and Randy Travis. She danced next to cuddling couples and booty-shaking singles. She occasionally agreed to dance with a cousin or her daddy, but mostly, she danced by herself.
And now, she’s asking us to turn up the music on our stereo so she can dance on a daily basis.
Seeing her joy does my heart good. So far, my girl is utterly lacking in the self consciousness that so often paralyzes me.
I’m hoping I can keep it that way.