Yes, I know it's probably dorky to go to a zumba class, especially for someone without any real dancing ability. A funny thing happened, though, about five minutes in. I was trying to get the steps, failing at doing so (of course), and in the process, I looked around the room at all the other middle-aged women doing the same. Tears sprang to my eyes and I blinked them away, wondering what the hell they were all about. And then I realized why I wanted to cry: I was inhabiting my body again in a way I used to before the miscarriages and before W arrived. I used to get together with other women and do a hip hop dance class, in fact, and while I was terrible (truly...I am not downplaying anything by saying so), it was joyous. Dancing, or lumbering around, has always felt really good. In that zumba class, I felt a little bit of that joy, and it was mixed with confusion, and sorrow, and liberation, and strangeness in my body. My body was different, my lumbering wasn't the same at all, but I--the Rachael who has always been this person, as long as I can remember--was the same.
And so in zumba class on Friday, a middle aged new mom cried for a little bit while trying to keep up with the new steps. I think I was the only one, but maybe there were others crying for some of the same reasons.
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