Dancerina.

It was visitor's week at Eleanor's dance studio, so all the parents got to perch along one side of the larger studio instead of hanging out in the lobby, peering through the tiny cracks in the closed blinds and trying to figure out which bobbing head is whose child. Some of the kids cried because their parents were visible but they couldn't go to them. Some kids ran back and forth between their parents and their class, some kids were dumbstruck by the hoard of watching adults. Eleanor was just like

and like

Like, the whole time.

Tiny ballerinas. I cannot even.

She has a recital in the spring and it's going to be amazing and I'm going to die.