Iris, my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, clung to my coat at the nursery door. She was crying loudly enough that I could still hear her voice in the corridor after I had walked out.
At 9:12, the staff sent me a photo. Iris was building a road with blocks.
When a child cries at nursery drop-off, that departure can easily become the summary of the entire morning in a parent’s head. I had left with one very clear image: my daughter in tears. I simply had not seen what happened three minutes later.
The tears at goodbye do not describe the whole day
The next day, Iris cried again. This time, I tried not to conclude immediately that she was unhappy at nursery.
The tears could mean something very specific: she did not like me leaving. They did not necessarily tell me how she would feel once her coat was hung up, she had joined the group and the morning had begun.
That does not mean a difficult separation should be ignored. If a child stays distressed for a long time, changes noticeably in their behaviour or the staff are concerned too, it is obviously worth talking about. But the moment at the door is only one moment.
I realised that I sometimes tried to make the crying disappear before I left, as though I needed proof that everything would be fine. I added another cuddle, another explanation, then one last sentence. Iris, meanwhile, had to understand several times over that I was going to leave.
A short, predictable goodbye
We tried something less ambitious: the same small sequence every time. Coat on the hook, comfort toy in her hand, one cuddle, one simple sentence, then I leave.
Not to stop the tears at all costs. Mostly to avoid turning goodbye into something different every morning depending on how guilty I felt.
"I’m giving you a cuddle, then I’m leaving. I’ll come back after snack."
"You can be sad that I’m leaving. The staff are staying with you, and I’ll come back."
Some mornings, Iris still protests. I can acknowledge that without stretching the doorway moment out indefinitely.
And when I think about her later, I try not to freeze her whole day on the last second I saw.
At the door, Iris was crying. Inside, her morning might already have been changing.
