Yes, I’m that mom—the one who hangs back after preschool drop-off, lingering in the bathroom as my son washes his hands, retrieving the paper towel for him, turning off the faucet, and ensuring he rinses all the soap from his tiny fingers.
I’m the mom who walks him to the breakfast table, pointing out the menu even though it’s clear to everyone else. All the other kids are already seated, happily pouring their own cereal and milk or seeking assistance from the teacher.
I’m the one who prepares a Styrofoam bowl, a plastic spoon, and a napkin for him, guiding his hand as he pours the cereal. While he eats, I crouch beside him, asking about his day and discussing our plans for when I pick him up.
I stay as long as he needs me, waiting until he’s ready to say goodbye. When he asks me not to leave, I lean in and touch foreheads, telling him that we’re connecting our thoughts—whenever he thinks of me, I’ll be thinking of him too.
I shower him with hugs and kisses, promising they’ll cling to him throughout the morning, even after I’m gone. As the last parent remaining at preschool, I watch the others rush off after saying their goodbyes.
Tomorrow, I might try to leave a bit earlier. I’ll let him ask the teacher for help during breakfast if he needs it, and see if he’ll allow me to stand outside the bathroom door while he washes his hands. Or perhaps I won’t. Maybe my routine of nurturing him will continue for several more weeks or even months.
Honestly, I’m not concerned about keeping track. I don’t feel the need to enforce any sudden changes or to determine a specific day to step back and encourage his independence. It will happen naturally. One day, he’ll choose to do everything by himself. He’ll come to class, chatting with friends, forgetting I’m even there.
Before I know it, he’ll be just like my older son, who sometimes still lets me kiss him at drop-off but quickly wipes my affection away as he runs off to meet his friends.
I’m done feeling guilty about nurturing my youngest. I’ve stopped comparing him with other children or parents at preschool, at the park, in stores, or online. He will only be this little for a short time, and only he and I know when our moments of closeness will come to an end.
We are in the midst of our own mother-and-child rhythm. Sometimes we’re close, sometimes one of us drifts away, spinning into our own worlds before returning for a moment. We only know the steps, most of the time creating them as we go, guided by love and instinct.
The things I do for my son provide him comfort, and why shouldn’t I offer that? They help ease his daily separation from me, which he is still adjusting to. The world can be daunting, and perhaps that’s why some parents feel compelled to push their children toward independence at an early age. However, it’s also why I want to offer him the warmth of closeness for as long as possible.
I know I could encourage him to be more self-sufficient without any harm, but I prefer to take this journey slowly, simply because I can and he desires me to.
Because soon enough, he won’t want my closeness anymore, and I’ll miss those moments dearly.
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Summary
This article reflects on a mother’s journey of nurturing her young son as he navigates independence. She embraces her role in providing comfort and support during his early school experiences, recognizing that these moments are fleeting. The author expresses a commitment to stay close for as long as her son desires, valuing their unique bond and the emotional dance they share.