I’ve often talked about my tendency to be a klutz, so it won’t come as a surprise to anyone that knows me that I can’t dance. Sometimes I think that I’m the only Puerto Rican that doesn’t feel comfortable on the dance floor. I barely even danced at my wedding. As a matter of fact, the song I chose for our first dance (can’t remember the song, how unwomanly of me) ended up being forever long, making that dance feel like my worst nightmare because there’s only so long that you can awkwardly move in circles in a heavy dress with a roomful of people watching quietly. Thankfully, I have a funny husband that started cracking jokes to the guests somewhere around the awkward fourth or fifth minute of the song.
And that, my friends, is why I tell brides to double-check the length of their first dance song.
Anyhoo, my son seems to have inherited the dancing gene from my husband. Michael will dance to any kind of music. He’s got moves for commercial jingles, gospel music, that weird techno stuff…fast or slow, he’s got some moves.
And I love it.
I tried getting him down for a nap today at my parents’ house, but he would not have it. So I turned on some music hoping that it would distract him from the whining long enough to doze off. That little plan backfired, but at least I got video proof of Michael’s awesome dance moves. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you little Michael getting his slow jam on.
(I love it that he tries to twirl around at the end. That’s a future choreographer there.)
(And that’s me trying to laugh silently in the background. The kid just cracks me up.)