The night before. Give me an A for anxious!

Tomorrow is the girls’ first cheer competition.  In truth, I’m learning that it’s competition for Kinlee’s and exhibition for Braska’s squad.  But it’s performance. In front of a lot of people.  And I fear they won’t even get to the floor.

I mean, they LOVE cheer. They really like the practices, the attention from coaches and the teen buddies.  But it’s different when there are lots of strangers looking at them. And yelling. And the music is way louder. I wonder how it will go.

I’m not nervous now. I’m trying to think of everything to prepare for.  But I know myself well enough to know that tomorrow, at about 11:05am and 11:25am, I will be one nervous nellie.  Watching them go, or not go, out onto the floor.  Then watching how the routines play out.  I’ll cry, I’m sure.  And I’m not an easy-crying type…  but I know I’ll be proud, and overwhelmed that they’re actually out there, and laughing at how silly the little 3-year-old squad will be. 

And I’ll be proud of Braska. That she is in a full-on real cheer uniform (that I made 40 huge cheer bows to pay for!) and she KNOWS her routine. 

You see, just a few weeks less than 6 years ago, I looked at my little baby in the NICU, staring at her in disbelief. Numb.  Sure that she’d never smile and play and be cute. (Shallow, I know.)  I was devastated that she wouldn’t have friends and get to play with kids at parties.  She wouldn’t understand humor. I just knew she wouldn’t be able to learn, let alone read.

I even asked M to be sure that our friends with kids didn’t bring them to come to the hospital while we were there.  I didn’t want to see those cute happy little girls or boys.  Because I didn’t get one.

Clearly, we have come a long way.  It didn’t take long to learn I was wrong, wrong, and more kinds of wrong. 

And tomorrow, I’ll get to watch, for about 2 minutes, my little adorable, perfectly dressed, swamped-with-friends, book-reading, fully-conversational, and blessed little girl do her *thang.*  She will rock it.  Even if she freaks out from all the strangeness.  She’ll still rock it.  Just because she can.

I’ll be the cheer mom looking goofy-sappy as I try not to cry while I laugh. 

Maybe I’m just nervous about reacting to my reactions.  That sounds like me. 

Sleep well, little beauties. Tomorrow is a big day.  And Mommy is already so proud.

(Last minute rushed project… cheer mom!  Definitely need a better pic, though.)