Leaving toddlerhood

The start of the new year hit me hard. Well, January 2nd hit me hard, to be more specific. That was the day I received an email I’d been dreading: the “2026-2027 Kindergarten Registration Information” email from our public school district. I knew it was coming; after all, I had to sign up for it in the first place. But seeing it pop up in my inbox so intrusively, so unceremoniously, made a pit form in my stomach instantly. Surely this can’t be right? I don’t have a soon-to-be-kindergartener in my household. You mean my baby? The one I just brought home from the hospital? Who just celebrated her Earth-day Birth-day when she turned 1? It’s all happening too fast. I’m not ready. Delete the email and bury my head in the sand. I’m in total denial.

Something about leaving toddlerhood (and soon, early childhood) behind is giving me a huge bout of existentialism lately. Not only am I lamenting that the first five years of my daughter’s life are now just past memories, but I’m panicking about the next 13-15 years to come. What do I want them to look like? When these years are also only memories, what do I want to remember and treasure? What will my daughter want to remember and treasure from her childhood? Thinking back to my own middle childhood and adolescent years, it feels like a blur now. I know it felt long at the time, like each year of high school was its own lifetime, but once it was all over the clock really started moving. If you had asked me as a teenager, I probably would’ve said two weeks is enough time to get to know someone fairly well, and after six months you’d know everything about them. Now I have an (almost) five year old and I can tell you, there will never be enough time for me to get to know her fully and completely. I both love that and hate that.

I love that my daughter is constantly growing and changing, but I hate that I can’t be there to witness every single second of it. (Yes, I know that kinda gives off helicopter-mom vibes, but my heart just explodes with love for her so I can’t help feeling this way. I’m just being raw and unfiltered about my feelings here.) When she was brand-new to the world, I got to spend hours watching her breathe, watching her sleep, watching her curl and uncurl her tiny little fingers. I was the one who fed her every single spoonful of whatever homemade puree I’d concocted just for her. I carried her inside my body for 39 weeks and 4 days - and after that I carried her on my body in slings and wraps and just my arms for at least another 2-3 years. Nowadays I’m working a lot, so she goes to daycare Monday-Friday most weeks. This means the little parts of toddlerhood that used to fill my waking hours now come in notification form: “New sleep entry”, “Lunch update: ate most”, “Today I’m participating in: gym class!”. My existential self cried the other day realizing that I’m watching most of her life through an app - and if/when she goes to public school kindergarten, I’ll be getting even fewer glimpses into her life.

They say that you get 18 years with your kid before they leave the nest, but they’re wrong. At least, those 18 years aren’t normal, linear years. The time speeds up every year (hell, every week it seems) until that exponential curve is shooting to the moon.

Vertical axis = speed of time, Horizontal axis = child’s age. This is a very scientific and accurate graph.

I remember when I was super pregnant with her, and everyone asked if I was excited to be “done being pregnant”. My honest answer was no. It wasn’t the delivery I was dreading; I was terrified to press start on my daughter’s earth-side life. Even then I knew that once the pregnancy was over, the rest of her life (and my life) would be on 2x speed, no pause button and certainly no rewind. And sure enough, the past 5 years have felt like 2, and the next 5 will feel like 1, until everything’s moving past so quickly I won’t be able to focus on anything at all.

And yet… and yet. Despite all the existential dread and time moving too quickly and never being able to go back… each new year is somehow my new favorite year with my her. When she was a newborn, I loved snuggling with her cheek-to-cheek and breathing in her soft baby scent. When she was one, I loved being mind-blown at every new sentence she said that broke her words-per-sentence record. When she was two, I loved seeing her personality and her confidence start to shine as she took risks and figured out how the world worked. When she was three, I loved exploring our community together and having her as my sidekick around town. When she was four, I loved hearing her make-believe stories and seeing her play dress-up as characters only she knows because she made them up on the spot. As an almost 5-year-old, she is sweet and sassy and kind and loving and beautiful and stubborn and bossy and goofy and just the best darn human that’s ever graced this planet.

No one asks this question, but if someone did ask me “So are you excited to be done with the toddler phase?” my answer would be no. Obviously I’m looking at everything through rose-colored glasses right now; there were terrible moments and insanely hard parts. Sleep deprivation and parental anxiety are absolutely not for the weak. There were (and still are) days when she was difficult and cranky and downright miserable to be around. But just like when I was pregnant, I’m terrified to hit the start button on the next chapter. That 2x speed will turn into 4x speed, everything will blur even more, and I fear I’ll miss moments of her that I’ll never get back. Even now I’m desperately clinging to the little baby she once was, fully knowing that that version of her only exists in my memories anymore. I question if it’s even possible to hold so much love in my heart for the baby and toddler she once was, and still have room for all that she is yet to become. Time is cruel like that though, because I have no choice but to find out.

PS - I just have to add that lately she’s been telling me all the time, “Mommy, I love you more than anyone in the whole world” and I just melt every time.