To The Mom Sending Her Baby Off to School
Hey, I’m here thinking of you as you think of everyone else.
Buying a backpack for the first time since you were a kid yourself. Slowly pushing your cart down the supply aisle, running your fingers across crayons, markers, notepads, and brightly colored folders you know they’ll love.
The windows are open now, the nights cool enough that you don’t need the AC. Pumpkins and mums have replaced petunias and watermelons outside the grocery store. Depending on your personality, you’re either slightly offended—or completely thrilled.
The sun sets earlier. August bows out, September takes the stage. Change is in the air, and your baby is off to school.
Maybe it’s your first time in this season, maybe it’s not. But still, a little part of your heart sinks. The slower haze of summer has slipped away. Sure, none of us were actually sleeping in (what’s that like again?)—but there were hours of sunshine, warm nights of grilling, firefly wonder, and sticky s’mores fingers. Sand in shoes by the garage door. Popsicles that cured boo-boos. Character towels draped over the porch. Humble, triumphant evidence of days well spent.
McQueen is still just three. In a world that pushes kids to grow up faster. In a culture that makes you feel behind if you don’t sign them up for this program, that camp, this activity.
He misses the Pre-K cutoff this year, which means he’ll be one of the older kids when he does start. I think that’s the Universe’s quiet little gift to me. Because if I’m honest, I don’t think he’s ready. And neither am I.
So why do I feel shame for enjoying this time and keeping him close? Why does choosing slow sometimes feel like a rebellion?
Friends with newborns look at him and see a big boy, but I still see a little one. A boy who asks me to explain words with wide-eyed wonder. Who names his new stuffed bunny “Cutie Pie” and tucks it next to Ellie the Elephant every night.
We’re deciding whether to enroll him in a short program this fall. Advocates say: “It’s important. The separation will give him independence. You’ll appreciate each other more.” Maybe that’s true. But maybe it’s also true that he’s already getting what he needs here at home—on our adventures, at story time, at the library, in the small daily moments where his brain lights up and connects dots.
I don’t know what we’ll decide. But I do know time will keep moving. The first frost will sneak in. The holidays will come and go. One calendar page will flip into the next. And soon, we’ll be scrolling through September photos marveling at how much smaller their features looked just months ago. In disbelief at how they’ve changed, how they’ve grown.
Time doesn’t need my help to speed up—it’s already racing.
So if your baby is off to school today, I’m sending you love. And when I say “baby,” I mean all of them—your third grader who it seems just learned ABCs yesterday, your college kid who once asked you to check for monsters under the bed.
Whether you’re a teacher, a stay-at-home mom, or a working mom who squeezed every ounce out of summer vacation: you deserve peace as you send them off.
I wish you a year of firsts:
New art projects to proudly tape on the fridge.
New field trips to talk about at dinner.
New friends, new discoveries, new moments captured for grandparents.
And most of all, I wish you strength. To trust that your babies will be cared for, will grow, and will come running back to you with excitement at pickup.
You are doing an amazing job. And whether you’re sending them off to the classroom, choosing to homeschool, or savoring this time just a little longer—remember: you will always be their safe, their happy.
You are home.
