The annual ballet recital was Sunday.

The girls were cool as cucumbers — see  the photos above and below (taken just moments before the performance) for proof. But I was a wreck.

I knew it didn’t matter a bit, what happened on stage. This particular studio rents the fanciest space in town for its recital, and fills the huge place to overflowing (the studio’s that popular) but the teachers don’t care a bit (in a good way) if your kid does anything more than have a good time onstage.

But since this particular studio happens to be run by my mother, and since I have the one kid in more than 100 with obvious special needs, the pressure is on. All self-imposed, I know. Still. It didn’t help matters that in last year’s recital, Sophie surpassed all expectations. She was stunning in “Teddy Bear Picnic” — knew every step, behaved beautifully. I had a bad feeling about this year, a feeling she would do something show-stopping. And not in a good way.

Class had not gone well this year. Annabelle was thriving in three separate classes, but Sophie’s teacher left mid-year, replaced by another who left mid-semester, and we’d decided against putting someone one-on-one in the class with Sophie, figuring that had become a crutch. I rethought that two weeks before the recital, when, during a rehearsal in class, I noticed Sophie wandering around the room, completely uninterested, causing mild bits of trouble. She’s never bonded with any of the girls in her class, unusual for my gregarious girl.

Looking back, I think maybe she was bored.

The truth is that sometimes ballet — like some things we ask kids to do, that are good for them — can be a little boring. Repetitious, grueling (in its 4,5 and 6 year old way — trust me, this isn’t hard stuff). But Sophie insisted she liked going to class, and I know it’s important to her to be part of something that’s such a big deal in our family, so we got her some one-on-one help, a sweet 11-year-old named Maddie.

That was fine, until Sophie started spontaneously breaking away from the group to hug and kiss Maddie. I pictured this happening on the big stage and sighed.

But hey, it is what it is, right?

And so this past Sunday, I was a little anxious. Sophie was really excited. For the first time in weeks, she agreed to wear her requisite blue leotard and pink tights, instead of insisting on her Project Runway tee shirt or a lavender tutu. She took the stage for rehearsal and through the tiny screen on my Flip camera, I realized that little stinker knew that dance backward and forward. You couldn’t tell she was different from any of the other kids. (Not that that’s what I’m looking for, people! Well, okay, maybe that’s what I was looking for this past Sunday.)

“OK, Sophie, just do what you did in rehearsal,” I said, as I struggled to pin the silver pipe cleaner crown on her head, and pinned on the butterfly wings. “And what are you not going to do?!”

“I not going to run offstage or hug or kiss anyone,” she said, dutifully and very convincingly.

“Or wave?”

“Or wave. I no wave, Mommy.”

Then the audience poured in. We couldn’t see him, but we knew Ray was someplace, and Sophie kept asking about it. We snuck down a few rows to say hi to Annabelle, then my dad arrived, and then Sophie’s absolute best friend in the entire world, Sarah, came in with her mom. Sophie shook with excitement, itching to get over to Sarah, but there was no time. The show was about to begin.

I pictured her leaping off the stage, mid-dance in front of hundreds of people, screaming, “Hi Sarah! Hi Sarah! Hi Sarah!”

She did ask for Sarah throughout the first four numbers, right up to the time we got up to go to the stage.

“Don’t forget, Sophie!” I said, hugging her.

“OK, Mommy! I no wave.” She took her place in line on the stage as Dolly Parton’s “Love is Like a Butterfly” began.

And she was absolutely beautiful, just like everyone else’s kid was beautiful that day, including the three year old in another class who stood completely frozen for her entire number, just staring off into space til the song ended and the teacher dragged her off. But really, Sophie knew all the steps and she did them, I even noticed her instructing a couple of other kids, though I’m not sure anyone else would have known that’s what she was doing. She stood in line when it was time to stand in line, and did her free dance when it was time for that.

Then it was time for the leaps. It’s the big moment in the spotlight for these kids, a touch I really love. The girls line up and take turns running across the stage, hopefully catching a little air. Sophie had a huge smile on her face as she took her turn, racing across, wings flapping, pipe cleaner crown bouncing.

And then it happened. It was quick, but I saw it in slow motion, as she realized this was her Moment and, with an impish grin, lifted her hand and gave a great big wave. I cringed, then looked around.

I know I’m her mom, but I have to say it: Sophie brought down the house. The entire place ahhhhhed, then cheered, and I’m pretty sure every person in the place felt like that wave was meant just for them.

That’s cool. I happen to know she was waving to her BFF, who is already signed up for a week of dance camp together with Sophie, starting just after school ends. Sarah’s mom drove her across town, missing church (a very big deal in their family) and bringing tears to my eyes when I saw them at the entrance to the auditorium; they’d come just to see Sophie.

Sarah and her mom know the importance of friendship. And so does my kid. Silly dance recital. Who cares? For Sophie, it’s all about the wave.

As it should be.