My 2-year-old son Noah dances like a bedazzled, hormone-charged pop star. Female pop star, that is. His foray into mock super-stardom is very likely the result of being babysat all summer along with his hyper-girlie cousin whom is 6 years old going on 16, and his 4-year-old sister, who emulates everything said older cousin does. Noah is regularly subjected to marathon sessions of trying-to-nail-down-the-choreography in Miley Cyrus’ ‘Hoedown Throwdown’ and other ‘tween delights.
Just yesterday, when picking him up from the babysitter, I was forced to play an enthusiastically engaged audience while the girls put on their own version of Ed McMahon’s Star Search before they’d release Noah to me. The girls had their announcements, songs and dances queued up and had cleared a section in the babysitter’s living room for a stage. Noah was just supposed to shake a maraca to get the beat going. I can tell you that he shook more than that. In fact, he took it upon himself to take center stage, pushing his older sister out of the way so that his dance routine would be on main display.
But I’m telling you, my boy’s got some moves. I mean, like, Britney Spears moves. Like Beyoncé moves. Okay, maybe he doesn’t dance that well but he’s only 2, what do you expect? Still, he has got some booty shakin’, hip-jive moves. I mean look at the face in that photo; he knows he’s got it. It’s like he’s channeling his inner Paula Abdul circa 1988.
Cue 8am this morning: I’m shuffling out the door schlepping diaper bag, laptop, purse and holding onto Noah’s hand when a car drives down our street blasting some unrecognizable (but oh-so-familiar) hip-hop gem. My sweet, cuddly, gentle little boy instantly transforms into a dancing diva. It was as if a spotlight dropped from the sky, darkened the space around him and turned our front porch into the Metropolitan. If he knew what moonwalking was, he probably would have done it.
So why did it take two years for this natural talent to emerge? Probably because his father and I are music snobs, who rarely indulge in any sweet, bubbly pop tunes. Noah’s new brand of dancing doesn’t accompany Wilco or Broken Social Scene all that well. It makes me wonder, have we been stifling Noah’s creativity all this time?
At first I was horrified by Noah’s newfound hobby. Now I’d say the feeling is more akin to pride. I’m not sure whether he’s dancing because he knows it makes us laugh, or if it really does make him happy. Regardless, in a world of homogenous toddler fancies, like singing the ABC’s or dancing to ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, Noah is carving out his own niche. He’s going Lady Gaga on us and I’m embracing it. That’s the thing that is so gosh darn easy about being a parent: loving your child no matter what or whom they love. I’m considering getting him a pair of rhinestone encrusted dancing shoes for Christmas. You think they come in toddler sizes?
You can read more from Mary Brady on her blog.