Over the moon

Lauren, bless her little heart, is sound asleep amongst her Pinkie Pie sheets, clad in a pink/orange/purple/etc. leotard and so excited she might burst. 

We visited GymQuarters today, and after many months of debate we're signing her up. It's gymnastics, you see.

And as you really CAN see, it's quite the facility. Here she is slated to engage in weekly lessons. We went there this afternoon and got information; took DH there this evening to get a good look at it and I decided to buy her a leotard there as well. We were allowed to try them on for sizing purposes. I took her into the bathroom and put her in the sparkly gold one. "Want to see in the mirror?" I asked. She shrieked and ran full-tilt for the mirror over the sink. She's so short I had to stand her on the counter to see. She whispered, "Wow!" and ran her fingers over the sparklies, and beamed at herself. As I lifted her down she somehow rammed into me.

"What the heck was THAT?" I asked her.

"I'm doing a back flip!" she replies happily.

"NOT off the bathroom counter, you're not! You haven't had one lesson yet, you'll break your neck!"

"Not myself," she says in the partly-exasperated kid voice. "Wiff you standing there!"

She runs at warp speed for dressing room, I help her into the pink leotard and she comes shooting back out with a huge grin, leaping in front of the mirror over and over like a Jack Russell Terrier. I lift her up again and she marvels over this new outfit. After much internal debate she settles on choosing the "pinkie" one, and then is crushed when she can't dash right out onto the floor and start swinging on the uneven parallel bars. (In Lauren's world, gymnastics just isn't gymnastics if there's no equipment, floor routines be damned.) She has a promise of a lesson on Monday, however, and I'm allowing her to sleep in the new gymnastics wear.

She. Is. Ecstatic.