As luck would have it, I recently found a dance partner who doesn't care if I look like Elaine from Seinfeld when I try to bust a move. He's not exactly Fred Astaire, or even Gene Kelly for that matter. He is short, fat and bald, and usually leaves a puddle of drool on my shoulder . I am of course talking about my precious baby boy, Ryan. He was having a bit of a fussy time a few days ago. I have noticed that music usually calms him. So, I tuned into my Micheal Buble station on Pandora (if you love music, and you haven't discovered Pandora, you should check it out), snuggled my little bug close, and began dancing around the room. He settled down almost instantly. This amazed me, since the very idea of me dancing would be enough to make most people cry.
I've had many dances in my life, at various proms, weddings , etc., most of which I don't even remember. But, I think I will always remember dancing barefoot in the living room in tie-die and cargo shorts; the smell of freshly cut grass wafting in on the breeze through the screen door, and the smell and warmth of that new baby head nuzzled against my shoulder. And I know Ryan won't remember, but one day when he leads some lucky lady out onto the floor in his handsome tux and steals her heart, I will remember, that day so long ago when he stole mine. And, if he is willing to humor and old lady, maybe we will turn on some Micheal Buble and dance again, hopefully minus the drool this time.