When I drop my daughter off at preschool, she doesn’t say goodbye anymore. And I’m struggling with how to feel about it.
Morning daycare and preschool drop-offs used to look very different. Walking her into class was like opening a box of chocolates … you never knew what you were going to get. Some days were totally fine, but when they weren’t, it was all-consuming for both of us. Maybe the room was too loud, or she hadn’t slept well, or the world just felt a little too big that day. Whatever it was, our morning would begin with her tiny arms wrapped tightly around me and her face buried somewhere on my body. She’d grip me with a strength that didn’t make sense for a toddler, like I was her anchor, and she’d lose me forever in the sea of blocks and play clothes if she let go.
Teachers would gently step in, prying her fingers loose as I murmured words meant to soothe us both: “I love you. You’ll have so much fun today. I’ll be back to pick you up soon.” I’d hold it together just long enough to make it to the car, then cry the entire drive to work. There was a two-week stretch around her second birthday where it happened every single morning, and I didn’t think either of us would survive. It was such a miserable way to start the day, consumed with overwhelming feelings of sadness and guilt.
But now? Now she doesn’t even look back.
The moment we step into her classroom, she darts off without hesitation to play with her friends or start an art project. Her little body, once anchored to mine, moves through the room like it belongs there. She’s confident and happy. When I try to sneak a hug or even a high five – just a quick, little connection before I go – I get an exasperated sigh and an eye roll worthy of the teenage years to come.
Now, instead of leaving with guilt and tears, I leave in utter confusion about these conflicting emotions surrounding her newfound independence. On one hand, I remember sitting in my car after hard mornings, longing for a time when we both left drop off happy and excited for the day to come. I thought it would bring me some relief as a working mom and peace of mind knowing my daughter loved how she spent her time away from us. And it absolutely has. I am incredibly relieved drop offs no longer involve tears and unbelievably proud to watch this former baby barnacle blossom into a confident little girl who loves being at school with her friends.
But, on the other hand, I’ve also found myself seized with a feeling I didn’t expect: grief. Grief because she no longer needs me in that way, in that room, in those initial morning moments. This is what we hope for as parents, right? That they’ll grow strong and brave and sure of themselves. That they’ll find joy and purpose outside of us. And yet no one prepares you for how it feels when it actually happens, and they start to let go and stop saying goodbye. That the independence you’ve tried to nurture will one day make you so proud, while also hurting your heart a little, too.
I know this isn’t the end of her needing me. Kindergarten is just around the corner, and no doubt the transition will come with new fears, tears, and probably moments when she clings to me again. In fact, I desperately hope this remains true for the rest of her life … that, no matter how old she gets, she can reach back and find comfort in my arms when the world gets too big, too loud, or too overwhelming. However, I also know that those moments will become less frequent, and these moments of letting go will occur more often. More goodbyes that are just a quick hug, a nod, or a roll of the eyes because her place in the world, although born from me, is no longer bound to me.
So, no, she doesn’t say goodbye anymore. But I know it’s her way of saying, I’m okay, Mommy. And, though it’s hard, I know I’ll be okay too … even while wrestling with the bittersweet feelings of grief and pride that come with watching my daughter start walking toward who she’s going to be without saying goodbye to me.
