“More dancing, Mommy!”
I have never been a dancer. I was always way too self conscious to ‘bust a move.’ Whenever friends would suggest we go to the club because it was “fun” I would usually respond with a:
But I rarely won those debates so I’d be in the Mix Factory on Teen Night like:
Otis isn’t like his mama, though. We were at my cousin’s wedding a few months ago and Otis fell in love with the dance floor. And as we twirled around I started tearing up.
Because one day this will be embarrassing. One day dancing at a wedding (or during an after dinner walk) will make him self-conscious, and he’ll look at me like I’m crazy when I suggest that we show everyone how we whip and nae nae. One day he will sulk in a corner the way teenagers at wedding do, and I’ll probably ask him, half-joking and half-brokenhearted, what happened to the little boy that loved to dance with his mama.
Thankfully, that day isn’t here, and until then we’ll dance. We’ll twirl around. We’ll giggle. We’ll clap. We’ll shimmy. We will whip AND we will nae nae.