An Open Letter to a Preschool Mom from a Sixth-Grader’s Mom

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Dear Preschool Mom,

I once stood where you are, and while you might find that hard to believe, it’s true.

You kneel beside your little one, a bright, bandaged baby secured to your chest, soothing your 3-year-old who’s upset about earthworms. “They come out when it rains,” you explain gently, “and sometimes they drown. It can be sad and scary.” Your child nods, adding through sniffles, “They also have a smell.”

As my daughter walks past, a confident sixth grader on her way to play Ralph Rackstraw in the school’s production of HMS Pinafore, you and your little one look up in awe. To your child, she’s a giant, possibly a queen tossing candy from a parade float. I know he recognizes her name; I can hear him whisper it excitedly to you.

Your gaze shifts to me, and I offer a smile, but I worry it might seem more like a grimace to you. I stand there, a stark contrast to your world. Gone is the baby I once carried; instead, I have two slender arms and a mind overflowing with thoughts that often drift far beyond the present moment. If you look closely, you might see the toll of time reflected in my tired eyes.

As you greet a friend with her own matching baby, others gather around to chat about sippy cups and nap schedules. Laughter fills the air, and you’re in no rush to leave, unless your little one catches sight of you through the nursery window, which can lead to tears and chaos.

Meanwhile, I bend down to kiss my daughter, whose face glows with youth and brilliance, thick lashes framing her expressive eyes. I’ll then climb into my car alone, fasten my seatbelt, and drive to a café, where I’ll spend hours writing in solitude without the background noise of little ones. No more lukewarm milk orders or sharing bites of my scone with a child who dashes off at every distraction. I won’t leave apologizing to fellow patrons for the ruckus of toddlers; I’ll simply savor the quiet.

You’ll whisk your children home for lunch and an afternoon nap before heading out to explore the nearby farm. You’ll marvel at the daffodils and the gentle breeze, holding your little one’s hand while the other thumb finds its way to his mouth, eyes wide with wonder at the goats and miniature horses. You’ll breathe in the sweetness of the moment as your baby wriggles with excitement, blissfully unaware of the ticking clock of childhood.

You might find yourself pondering dinner or what the future holds, wondering about the lives of older moms, and whether they still bend down as you do. We do not have to bend down every second anymore, but we often reminisce about the sweet scent of a baby just waking from a nap or nestled against us while reading a bedtime story. One day, you’ll sneak in to catch a whiff of that familiar smell one last time, and you’ll realize you’ve become one of us, someone who treasures every fleeting moment.

You may not believe it now, but trust me, it’s a journey we all take.

Warmly,
A Sixth-Grader’s Mom

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