“Front... (tap, tap, tap) side… (tap, tap, tap) back… (tap, tap, tap) side… (tap, tap, tap)!”
Tap?
“Shuffle! Shuffle left!”
Tap?
“Switch feet! And front!...(tap, tap, tap)…”
(Watch self in mirror, feeling new leotard with hand, shake hips, smile)

I have mixed emotions watching Isabella in dance class. On one hand, I feel fortunate that she’s come this far that she can just be in a dance class, let alone one filled with typical kids. Not too long ago, I didn’t know if she’d be able to. Also, this is really the only thing she’s ever asked to do, sports-wise, other than, say, asking me to bounce her on the trampoline (which doesn’t count). I’m very proud of her for trying it out and staying with it, despite the frustrations that I know she feels.

That brings me to the other hand, where it can be hard for me to watch her interact with typical peers, especially when those peers are younger and already more adept. It would be like Madeline watching me play basketball against some college players, except in that case it would be funny (not to me, though) and a medical doctor would eventually have to come in and set a bone. In Isabella’s dance class, the other kids watch the coach (CARRIE EDITORIAL COMMENT: that would be “dance instructor” to you non-knuckleheads out there) and goof off as much as she does. But their feet somehow keep up much better.

Trying to watch the world through Isabella’s eyes has shown me how unbelievably amazing we all are, how we are able to adapt and acquire new skills. Only when there’s a problem do we appreciate the ordinaries of old. I can remember yearning for the feeling of “nothing” while I was in agony with a brutal sinus infection a few years back. At that time, I swore I’d never forget to appreciate the feeling of normalcy, of a pain-free moment. Well, I hope I didn’t actually swear to that, because plenty of pain-free moments have passed since then with nary a hint of appreciation (except now of course -- my head is blessedly numb… no, I haven’t been drinking).

That’s a roundabout way of saying that sometimes we forget to appreciate the good things in life. Speaking of that, I looked to my right in the dance class’s observation room and saw one of the other fathers idly playing games on his phone, oblivious to the tapping of his daughter on the other side of the glass. He was missing it. I still do too at times, but having a child who experiences difficulties really hones your sense of appreciation. Small wonders are indeed still wonders. I looked through the glass at the dance studio and saw one tapping away, out of beat and on the wrong foot, and smiling. I smiled too.