This summer, I got to spend every single day with my toddler. Morning snuggles, park trips, slow afternoons, sticky popsicle hands—it was all ours. And now, as I head back to my classroom, my heart feels heavy.

Teaching is a part of who I am, but so is being “Mama” all day long. It’s hard to let go of the rhythm we built together—the freedom to move at her pace, to witness all the little milestones, to be fully present without a clock ticking in the background.

Now I’m packing lunches and planning lessons, while also trying to hold back tears as I drop her off. The guilt, the sadness, the tug-of-war in my chest—it’s real. I know she’ll be okay (probably better than okay), but that doesn’t make it any easier.

This season of transition is hard, but I keep reminding myself: I’m doing this for her too. To show her that her mama is strong, capable, and dedicated—even when it hurts. And when that final bell rings, I’ll run back to her with arms wide open, grateful for the time we do have.