It's been 17 years . . .

My daughter, now age 5, is starting ballet classes at FSTB school at The Grand in Wilmington. It's a serious ballet school. No tap, no hip hop, no crazy 8-hour long recitals where your kid points her toe, spins around and exits stage left. I know, I'm such a snob when it comes to dance, I just can't help it. Ells has expressed an interest in ballet and has clearly stated she doesn't want to do tap or anything else. Is she my kid, or what? I'm really excited for her to be exposed to such a beautifully technical and disciplined art form. I hope she loves it as much as I did back when I was 6. She's all ready to go with her pink slippers, classic pink tights and black leotard. She's ready - and so am I . .

I bought ballet slippers and leotard for myself about a year ago, thinking I would take a class last year, but there was never a good time, and there were at least 10 others excuses I pulled out that prevented me from committing. No time, too expensive, I'm too out of shape, it's too far away from home, etc. Well, last week, all my excuses disappeared. Once I enrolled Ells, I looked at the class schedule and discovered there is an open class across the hall from where Ells will be at the exact same time. So I can either sit in a hallway for an hour and chat it up with some other moms, or I can take the open class. Kind of a no-brainer.

I am so excited I can barely concentrate on anything else.

Will I know anyone from my previous ballerina life in class? Hopefully.

Will I be the fattest one in the room? Probably. I don't even care!

Will I know what I'm doing? Absolutely!

Will I be able to walk on Monday? Definitely not!

Will I get strong enough to take the class en pointe sometime during the year? Hell yeah!

It's been 17 years since my last ballet class, and I'm just 5 days from my next one.