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When my son was two, we visited his daycare for the first time — and I remember standing there, blinking back tears while pretending to be deeply moved by a wall of finger paintings. It was supposed to be a quick visit, just to “see how he’d settle.” Instead, I spent half the time wondering how parents walked away so casually, leaving behind these tiny humans with snack boxes and uncertain smiles.
Fast-forward five years. The same child now wakes up before me, wears his backpack like a badge of honor, and practically drags me to the school gate. His enthusiasm is adorable — and mildly offensive.
“Slow down,” I tell him. “I’m coming.”
He grins. “You walk like you’re the one who doesn’t want to go to school, Mama.”
Touché.
These days, drop-off is a well-oiled routine. He’s in charge, I’m emotional support staff. I try to sneak in one last hug — you know, for “good luck” — but he’s onto me.
“Mama, don’t make it weird.”
So I stand there pretending to fix his collar, pretending to be fine as he walks off, waving just once before getting swallowed by a sea of tiny backpacks and big dreams.
And every time I watch him go, I remember a line I once scribbled down in a notebook years ago: We spend the early years coaxing them to let go of our hands, and the rest of the years trying to get them to hold it again, just for a second.
At the time, it was just a thought. Now, it feels like my morning routine.
But if drop-off tugs at the heart, pick-up is pure therapy. It’s the highlight reel of my day. I wait, scanning the crowd, and then — there he is. That split-second when his eyes meet mine and his whole face lights up. That big, unfiltered, melting smile that says “you’re here.”
He walks toward me — still pretending he’s too old to run — and every step is a little reminder of how far we’ve both come.
Sometimes, as we drive home, he tells me about his day in the most random order possible.
“So, I loved creative detox today, I made booklet just out of one giant piece of paper. But also, my friend said my favorite song is getting on her nerves. Do we have sour cream at home?”
It’s chaos. Beautiful, nonsensical, seven-year-old chaos. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Because somewhere between that teary daycare visit and today’s confident goodbyes, I feel that parenting isn’t about holding on. It’s about showing up. It’s about being there when they run back — with stories, smiles, and crumbs from whatever mystery snack they at with their friends at school.
And maybe that’s what makes pick-up time feel so special — it’s the quiet reminder that no matter how independent he becomes, he still looks for me in the crowd.
So yes, I still linger near the gate, pretending to be fascinated by the notice board, but really just waiting for that one look that says, “Found you.”
~Ashmita, still navigating life’s adventures, and appreciating the beautifully messy algorithm of human connection.
#BackToSchool #ParentingReflections #MotherhoodMoments #WorkingMomLife #WritingCommunity #WomenWriters #LifeLessons #EverydayJoy #Observations #UnscriptedConnections
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Ashmita Patnaik(Author)
