Things that make you say "hmmm...."

Kaila giving me her now-perfected "WTF?" look. Who can blame her?
I put her in a stripper coat for dance lessons.

I had my second child at Geauga Regional Hospital which is nestled deep in the Ohio countryside. It also happens to be where some Amish women go to have their babies. Due to many occurrences, I've long suspected a switch took place -- and that some half-Indian girl is churning butter east of here while I am raising another mama's Mennonite baby.

Here's why I maintain Kaila was switched:

1. She is white. Not a blend of brown and white. Not beige. White. Snow-white.
2. She does not like Mexican food which is a mucha problema para mi.
3. She has an affinity for woodworking and quilting and cried when CNN televised the FLDS women being led away from their compound -- she didn't know they weren't Amish.

But, then, strange things started happening. And I thought maybe, just maybe, she's really mine.
1. She started liking Mexican rice.
2. She got giddy whenever someone uttered the word "beer."
3. She refused to take dance lessons.

#3 is what really spoke to me. I raced cars and flew airplanes with the boys when I was young. I was never a cute "girly girl" who like to play dress up and prance around in my mother's heels.

So, I held off from telling Kaila about the lessons for as long as I could. I was afraid she'd shoot me her now-perfected WTF look. Plus, how the hell was I going to get a girl who plays with trucks and picks up snakes into pink tights, a black leotard and ballet slippers?

Ay caramba. Lollipop, please.

I broke it to her last week.

Guess what!

[Excitedly, b/c she was hoping I'd offer up ice cream for lunch.] What?!?!?

Grandma signed you up for a really cool class! It's one that ALL your other friends take. You're going to get to dance! Ballet! Tap! It'll be so much fun. Tap shoes make lots of NOISE!!!! [Here comes the boldface lie.] I wish I took ballet and tap when I was little. Boy am I mad that Nani didn't sign me up.

(Banging her head on the kitchen table.) No. No. Noooooooooooo. I don't wanna. Nooooooooooo.

Just try it! No? Okay. What about an art class? Candle-making? Knitting? Carriage repair? Still NO?!?!? I was baffled.

Despite Kaila's questionable origins, we share the same stubborn streak. Being much older and wiser, I knew how to deal: don't make a big deal. So I didn't. And, Friday was D-Day. (Dancing Day).

I nearly fell off my chair when she begrudgingly put on the garb and let me pull her hair up into a ponytail. I was sure she was going to hold her breath, turn blue and pass out. (Only to regain consciousness, dressed in a tutu, at the dance lesson anyway, of course.)

She entered the studio. She hopped, twirled and smiled! She exited the studio, happy. Talk about shock and awe. Then, she dropped the A-bomb.

I LOVE DANCE LESSONS! I want my own dance clothes!!! (I had borrowed her ensemble from a friend thinking this would be our first and last foray into dance. ) Can I wear this to Playground World?


The tiny dancer.

I started thinking. She totally fucked with me all last week, pretending she hated dance, laying on the drama. Hmmm...maybe we're related after all?

P.S. Kaila, if you are reading this, you really are my flesh and blood. I have the scar to prove it. Or, "scars," if we count emotional torment.