“Mommy, can you come with me? Please don’t go!”
As I helped you into your little shoes, your tiny hand reached up, intertwining with mine. We slid your cheerful blue backpack onto your shoulders, and though I smiled to comfort you, my heart felt heavy. In the parking lot of your new preschool, I noticed the glimmer of tears forming in your eyes. Your feet shuffled toward your classroom as you gripped my finger tightly, your lips pulled into a frown.
If this is meant to be a positive step, why does it feel so painful?
On that first day of preschool, when you extended your arms and cried out for me, big tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. I kissed you gently and walked back to my car, leaving behind your cries, which shattered me inside. I wish you could understand why this was necessary, but at just 2 years old, you simply cannot.
By now, you’ve likely settled in with your new friends. You’re probably no longer crying. Yet, here I am, still grappling with the emotions in my heart, sitting in the car, penning you this letter. Because one day—when you are old enough to comprehend—I want to share my thoughts about those preschool drop-offs.
My dear child,
By the time you read this, those early drop-off memories will likely be long forgotten. In all honesty, you probably won’t recall the tears or the way your teacher comforted you while I hurried away, afraid I might change my mind and whisk you back to safety. You won’t remember the worry on my face or the warmth of your flushed cheeks, but I assure you, I will.
You won’t know how your father and I deliberated for months, seeking the ideal school that would nurture you, safeguard you, and encourage your growth. We spent half a year in our new town mustering the courage to enroll you. After visiting twelve schools—yes, twelve!—we chose the charming Jewish temple adorned with vibrant artwork on every wall. We wanted you to trust your teachers, to forge friendships, and to play freely without me hovering nearby. You won’t remember our sleepless nights filled with anxiety over this decision, but we will.
You won’t be aware of the guilt I felt at home, scrubbing the carpet for the third time that day. The dishes were done, the bed was made, and I feared by 10 a.m., your faith in me might be shattered. While you wondered where I was, I was on the phone with Ms. Sarah, eager for news about your laughter and fun with a brown plastic donut during circle time. You may not recall these moments, but know that I will.
Perhaps you’ll be 7 when you read this, rolling your eyes at what you see as Mom’s overreactions. Maybe you’ll be a teenager, embarrassed by my heartfelt confession. Or, I like to dream, you’ll be packing up a safe sedan with your belongings for college, a bumper sticker on the back, and a smile on your face as I hold your hand tightly.
One day, it will be my turn to experience the drop-off. I might wear a brave mask or succumb to tears streaming down my cheeks. No matter what, it will be your moment to rush back to your car, leaving me to sniffle in the rearview mirror, as you embark on a new adventure, not looking back.
You won’t remember the lunch boxes, the tiny socks, or that I woke up an hour early to bake wild-berry muffins before preschool. You won’t recall that I sat in the car, writing this letter while tears flowed down my face. You won’t know the overwhelming pride, love, joy, and sadness that a parent feels when watching their child take steps toward independence.
You may not understand this now, but I will always remember.
Jenna Sinclair
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Summary
This heartfelt letter captures a mother’s emotional journey as she navigates her child’s first day of preschool. Through reflections on love, independence, and the bittersweet nature of parenting, she expresses the deep connections and memories that shape their relationship.
Keyphrase: preschool drop-off emotions
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