My new job involves me sitting in a ballet studio for about three to four hours a day. When I heard my new boss utter these glorious words during my interview, visions of sugar-plum colored, sequin, hair bows and passive aggressive momma bears fueled by expensive cocktails did pirouettes through my head.
Can't you just see me perched up in that observation room, dead center between Melissa and Christie, complaining because my nanny baby didn't get a solo? I started mentally brushing up on my repartee right there in New Boss's kitchen. My nanny babies would get their garsh darn solos dangit!
Please, allow me to walk you through a day in the life of a real dance mom/nanny.
3:00 Pack snack and dinner for dance babies.
3:10 Help pack your little princess's dance bag with completely un-sparkly dance gear.
3:15 Drive to un-glamorous dance studio.
4:00 Arrive at un-glamorous dance studio and bid ado to dance baby as they rush into a room with a no parents allowed sign to do dance baby things.
4:01 Hunker down in uncomfortable chair in un-glamorous lobby. Play Candy Crush. Check email. Check email again. Text your mom. Write a blog post. Twiddle your thumbs. Read a book. Play more Candy Crush. Eat some crackers. Instagram. Pinterest. Facebook. Rinse and repeat.
7:30 Exhausted dance baby will emerge from secret room slightly sweaty carrying sparkle free dance bag.
8:15 Drop dance baby off at home.
8:35 Go home and watch True Blood.
All the girls wear plain pastel colored leotards and pink tights with tight bow-less buns, and the waiting room looks more like one at a doctors office than anything I've ever seen on the Lifetime network.
That's right folks. No pyramid. No expensive cocktails. No midriff baring sparkly outfits with matching hair-bows. No sassy theme numbers about gay marriage and homeless children who go shopping. None. Zilch. Nada. Not even a gosh darn glass box to sit in and watch dance babies practice. The true life of a dance nanny. The struggle is real.
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