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Daughters Bouncing
By S.D. Craig
Published August 2001

Aren't they most precious?  What could be greater than the gift of healthy, bouncing baby girls?  Not much.  Until, that is, they grow up. 

They still are bouncing, but now it's on the sofa, the bed, in the bath water.  Then we move onto sports and cheerleading and hamstring pulls and boys.  We made it through the tears and fights as they grow into young lovelies.  Then, they discover scary things like skiing and snowboarding and motorcycles.  Do these bounce, too? 

My daredevil daughter now teaches my timid one these hobbies.  Bless her little heart.  I've a mind to tie them up for another five years.

The most interesting part about their bouncing capabilities was not when the boys watched them bounce up and down the stairs at various events or hotels or malls, but when they danced.  I love to see my girls dance. Lucky for me, they took after their (modest) Mom.  I have a sense of rhythm that makes me believe I have dancing blood somewhere in these North Carolinian veins.  I have to.  They both hear music and can move well to it.  Oh, did I mean well?  Let's try for another word.  I'm a writer, I should be able to capture it.

Their moves should be illegal.  When my first child, Michelle, was old enough to dance (she was never interested in dance classes), I was stunned.  She moved as sensuously as a snake, her body undulating in ways I'd never dreamed of.  And baby, I was a damned good dancer at her age.  But here was this child I gave birth to looking as if Gumby was straightly laced.  Good grief.  How the hell was I going the keep the boys off? 

Truth was, I was blessed she was a shy child.  Yes, she remained so until her sophomore year of college, so I got lucky.  It was hidden, pretty much, until then.  But man, the first time she came home from school and had tossed the turtlenecks, I wondered what had hit.  There was no feather to knock me over, and I didn't need one.  Who was this blonde-headed beauty dressed like Madonna of the Southern California look?  Her belly showed, and oh Lordie, her skirt, pants, shorts were shorter.  And, er, dare I utter the word?  Sexier?  This is was daughter.  My innocent little Mimi.  I held onto the edge of whatever I could find to steady me.

Move on to Melissa, my class clown and non-shy one. Another stroke of luck.  This child didn't know her charm and beauty.  Whew.  That is, not until she'd graduated high school and I had moved away to Georgia.  Somewhere in that twenty-two months of mothering deprivation, she found out.  College might've done it.  I'm not sure.  When I returned, I found this slender beauty who did take dancing for several years in school, dressed in a different wardrobe of clothes.  When did she blossom?  When did she buy this outfit or that?  Who chose it for her, and didn't they know that old saying about "how are you going to sit down in that" my mother offered to me?  Now she had necklines moving downwards and skirt hems moving upwards.  I don't know if I can stop the trend and I look pretty funny yanking down and up on things they're wearing.

Now take the dressing differently, the new self-esteem they gather around nineteen to twenty-two years old, and put that with the dance moves, well, you can get me a heart monitor.  And a sturdy chair. And give me their snowboards, while you're at it.

I'm not sure I'll make it until my next birthday.

About the writer: SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname "Chatterbox" by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

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