mommy dance moves

At some point, in the mix of play dates and middle of the night feedings; parent teacher conferences and shopping for a new SpongeBob umbrella it happened. I’m not sure exactly how or where but the strangest possession of mine went missing. In its place I have an annoying presence that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere for a while: Mommy Dance Moves.

I remember feeling the beat back in the day, starting in my teens and extending through my twenties. I could go out to the club or nearest karaoke bar and get my groove on with Will Smith’s ‘Getting’ Jiggy Wit It’ and Blackstreet’s ‘No Diggity.’ Flirting on the dance floor with moves like running man, butterfly, cabbage patch and the humpty dance. I’d wear my overalls with one snap on and one snap off, just to prove I could be half farmer, half down to dance. Those were the days, and I guess I took my moves for granted. Reminiscing, I’m sure we all would love to pretend that the Macarena was just something that we did way back when for giggles—but you know you had that sequence down and could hip circle if your life depended on it. Even if that was only last weekend at your cousin’s wedding reception.

I have a theory of how it all started: The Wiggles. I distinctly remember that after attending one of their concerts, when my son was two, it just seemed to all go down hill from there. The foot missteps and awkward hip jutting. I can’t even get my backside to keep up with the rest of my body and less like a Chic jeans commercial. And we can forget about twerking, okay? I have to get up and work in the morning. Mommy don’t have time for hip surgery and physical therapy.

I hate to admit it, but I used to laugh at my own parents when I was younger, because of the embarrassing clapping and knee slapping that would come up out of nowhere. How the times have changed as I find myself snapping, soft or loud depending on the song, with an accompanying head nod. Now my kids are laughing at me, and I don’t blame them, for my Elaine Benes-worthy performances. Where did my rhythm go? The smooth hip gliding? The soft shoulders? The timing of the beat box used to surge through my veins. I could imitate a pigtailed Britney Spears with the best of them.

I guess we all can’t have amazing dance moves forever. There comes a time when we need to make room for a new generation. We will have to accept this transition in life, as hard as it may seem, and step aside for those who effortlessly pull off the Dougie and Nae Nae. No matter what happens, I will still love 1998 just as much as the next Backstreet Boy. And I will think fondly of all those hours in the sweat infused, strobe light nights of my youth. Back when I thought I was sexy because I could kick my legs out when ‘Ice Ice Baby’ came on loud and clear. I find comfort in knowing that I’m not alone. No worries though, there’s still a place for all of us challenged-rhythmic moms to go. See you at the nearby Zumba class.