Dance Mom

When I entered the living room, the two were sitting side by side; eyes affixed to the television. They hardly noticed my entrance.  

“Do you think Chloe will be at the top of the pyramid this week?” My husband asked.

“She deserves it, but I bet Abby will pick Nia just to see what Christi does.”  

I looked at the two of them sitting there watching the Abby Lee Dance Company’s weekly drama. I wondered when my husband went from Mr. soccer, tennis, and volleyball coach extraordinaire to dance mom? I started to ask the two of them what they wanted for dinner but was immediately shushed into silence.  

“Fine,” I said, “I’ll just make my own dinner, and you two can starve.”  

They continued watching their show, transfixed by Abby’s pyramid of rising and falling stars and the drama mommas contending for top billing with their daughters.  

“Girl, you could dance circles around Kendall!” My husband joked with Lulu.

“Daaad, you’re just saying that!” Lulu rolled her eyes at her father.

Taking in this scene, I suddenly felt so left out! Isn’t it supposed to be ME that’s the dance mom? Aren’t I supposed to fill this vital role of living vicariously through my daughter’s life? I wondered when I moved to the outside, and my husband moved to the inside of Lulu’s life.

It really happened slowly. I kept getting sicker and sicker and unable to do everything I used to do. I had trouble going places due to my constant stomach problems and frequent need for a nearby bathroom. Add to that a knee that enjoyed giving out on me on the stairs and in the grocery store, necessitating my turning over the everyday reigns to my husband.  

When I went into the hospital for the third time in three months, I think a part of me just gave up inside. I guess it was then that Bill became the dance mom, and I just faded out of the picture.  

I don’t give my husband half the credit he deserves. He took up the slack and never complained when others might have cracked under pressure. Over these past months, he has taken over the laundry, the cleaning, and the shopping. He’s run all the errands and has run me from one doctor to the other. He has nursed me and my knee - catering to my every need. He has cared for Lulu, too - again, never complaining or making me feel bad.

He didn’t have to make me feel bad; I was doing a great job of that all by myself. In fact, I have elevated “pity party” to a whole new level. While he was breaking a sweat running hither and thither, I was breaking down in my bed, crying over my inability to get anything done.  

“Lulu, Where’s Dad?” I’d yell from my bedroom. Then I’d hear the tractor going and know he was mowing the five acres. Later, I’d ask Lulu the same question, and she’d say he’s grocery shopping for gluten-free food for me or doing laundry.  

So, what did I do for this man during these troubled times? I complained, of course! I complained that he and I had no “quality time” together. I said I missed him. Missed him! Of course, I missed him! He didn’t stay still for more than five seconds, and when he finally crawled into bed at the end of the day, he passed out from exhaustion.  

Today, I was finally able to drive Lulu to dance. Sitting in the waiting room it occurred to me that I was sitting in the waiting room! I wasn’t looking frantically for a bathroom to run to, and if the need arose for me to run to the bathroom, I’d be able to at least walk using my new knee. These little victories were all significant in my life.

I can never repay my husband for being a great dance mom. I know that words would never be adequate to express to him how much I appreciate his loyalty to me during these difficult months. All I know is that I am blessed to have someone who loves me through my grouchy, pitiful, complaining, nagging self. He loves me despite me.  

It hasn’t been easy. I know that my husband has given up so much of his time willingly and freely to care for me. I know that he took the vow, “in sickness and in health,” earnestly, and I am eternally grateful. We just celebrated 29 years of marriage with a walk in the park, which I couldn’t do just a few weeks ago because I could still not put weight on my knee. Many of those 29 years were not walks in the park, but we muddled through somehow. Isn’t that what marriage is all about? You muddle through the rough spots and learn to appreciate and love each other.  

I know I am on the road to recovery now. As I go down this road, I want the number one dance mom by my side. I pray he wants to be by my side, too - always and forever.