I was 6 years old and it was a chilly Saturday morning in April. I head upstairs with excitement because I know I have dance competitions all day. My mom is opening the widows welcoming spring into the house air. She feeds me a big breakfast that includes protein and calcium. Then she drags her heavy feet to her purse and makes sure she had a 20-dollar bill for the entry fee. I quickly finish my breakfast and throw my dishes into the sink because I am egger to start the day. My mom meets me in her master bathroom and throws a rough towel over the chair where I will be sitting. My eyes light up like a light bulb when I see all the make up and hair products neatly placed on the white vanity. She brushes my hair back and adds gel leaving not even one stand of hair sticking out then places a twisted elastic band in my hair. My mom finishes my hair by poppy pinning a tiara in my hair then goes to grab a black eyeliner. She draws a black line just above my eyelashes and adds a pink wine coloured blush to my young cheeks. I pucker my lips for a strawberry red lipstick, it feels chalky on the mouth but it makes me feel bold. I grab a sequenced costume and take the white hanger off. I placed my legs through the bodysuit and buttoned the clasp that sits on the back of my neck. I dance my way over to the body mirror in the hallway that is nailed to the wall. I stop and stare at myself looking at every perfection my mom created. I felt like a little princess which made me feel like a little girl. I continued to do this for my whole dance career. 14 years later I continue to dress up in my dance costumes to feel like that little princess again.