by Melissa Willets posted in Parenting

I managed to keep it together, even when my youngest child burst into tears at the door of the preschool. She looked up at me with watery eyes, and an expression that said what I felt: I don't want to let go of your hand. Actually, she was clinging to my leg as if we were standing on the edge of a cliff. When the teacher pried her fingers off of my thigh, she cried as if she were being lead off to her execution, her calls of "Mommy" slicing into my heart like knives.
My smile faded only when she was out of sight, and I walked slowly toward my car, my heart as heavy as an anvil in my chest. I swallowed against the giant lump in my throat as I replayed this same moment with my first and middle daughters. It had never been easy to drop them off at school for the first time, but today, I was headed home alone. Alone. Sliding into the front seat of the too-quiet car, I couldn't fight back my tears any longer. They fell hot and fast down my cheeks. I pulled out of the parking lot reluctantly, and drove as if on auto-pilot back to our house. Where no one awaited me.

Opening the front door, our house echoed with nothingness. No screams or peals of laughter. No TV blaring. Just eerie silence. The space that typically feels too small and crowded with kids and toys and busyness, suddenly seemed huge and cavernous.
Why didn't I feel the same joy I'd seen other moms showing off on social media once their entire broods went to school&...