Sweet Child,
There’s something I need to say—something that has weighed heavily in my heart since the day I watched you, backpack too large for your small frame, eyes searching mine as I walked away from your schoolyard. I owe you an apology—not just for that moment, or the attempts that followed, but for the pressure I placed on your little shoulders far too soon.
I believed I was doing the right thing. They say, “the earlier, the better.” Driven by societal and economic pressures and caught in the chaos of adult responsibilities, I lost sight of what truly mattered. I forgot about you—your feelings, your readiness, your childhood.
You are still so wonderfully little, just beginning to explore a world beyond our home. Yet, I thrust you into a whirlwind of schedules that moved too fast for your gentle pace.
When you cried at drop-off, clinging to my leg, I told myself it was normal. I silenced the small voice within that said it might not be the right time. I convinced myself we just needed to push through. In doing so, I failed to listen to you. Instead, I paid heed to the noise around me—the expectations, the comparisons, the timelines.
I thought enrolling you in school would benefit you, help you grow. I imagined it would open doors for you–to learning, socializing, to discovering your own little place and was an opportunity for you to flourish. But I forgot that growth does not mean hurrying. It’s not rushing through milestones or checking boxes before you’re ready. Growth can be slow and quiet sometimes. It takes root in comfort, in safety, in feeling understood.
You weren’t ready for school, and you tried to tell me in countless ways—through tears, questions, confusion, and even resistance. I refused to listen then. But I hear you now, and I want to do better. I see how much more you needed my arms than a desk. You needed more time, more of me.
I’m learning to quiet the voices that rush us and to listen more closely to you. I see your innocence and recognize your unique pace. Childhood is a sacred, fleeting time, and I will try to protect it for you.
You don’t have to be big just yet. There’s no race to win, no rush to grow. Let’s slow down for now. We’ll find our rhythm again—slowly, gently. And when you’re ready, I know you’ll step into the world with confidence, curiosity, and joy.
You have all the time in the world to learn behind a desk and socialize with wonderful people. But right now, your most important lessons are found in the puddles you jump in, the crows and ducks you count, and the hugs you give and receive.
Let’s cherish the messy toys, the endless questions, the slow mornings and the way your hand fits so perfectly in mine. These are the days that shape us both. As I learn to follow your lead, I promise to honor your childhood not as something to rush through, but as something to treasure–one unhurried day at a time.
Always with love,
Mommy
Yzagada 