DIARY OF A NAIJA MUM: First day of school tears

By Benedicta Amirize

There are certain milestones in motherhood that no one really prepares you for, moments that look ordinary from the outside but feel like a storm inside your heart. For me, one of those moments was my son’s first day of school.

It was supposed to be a proud day a day to smile for pictures, a day to post “My baby’s growing up!” And yes, I did smile… for the pictures. But behind that smile was a mix of excitement, anxiety, and something deeper that only mothers understand, the ache of letting go.

That morning started earlier than usual. I woke up before dawn, too nervous to sleep. I laid out his tiny uniform the night before, a crisp white shirt, small navy shorts, socks that seemed too big for his little feet, and shoes polished to shine like new coins.

He was still fast asleep, his face peaceful, his thumb tucked under his chin. I stood there for a while, watching him, remembering all the nights I had rocked him to sleep, the endless diaper changes, the days of first steps and first words.

And now, this…. the first day of school.

A new world awaited him, and as proud as I felt, my heart whispered, “Is he ready? Am I ready?”

When I finally woke him up and told him it was time for school, his reaction was everything I didn’t expect.

“I don’t want to go, Mummy,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I want to stay with you.”

I smiled and kissed his forehead. “You’ll love school, my darling. You’ll make new friends, and your teacher will be so nice.”

He didn’t look convinced.

The drive to school felt longer than usual, even though it was just fifteen minutes away. He sat quietly in the backseat, clutching his new water bottle, eyes fixed on the road. I tried to make small talk.

“Do you remember your ABCs?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“And your counting?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy!”

But he didn’t smile. Not even once.

When we arrived, I saw other parents already there, some with toddlers crying, others with cheerful, confident kids waving goodbye like it was no big deal. I looked at them and thought, Maybe I’m the one who’s not ready.

The real heartbreak came at the classroom door.

The teacher knelt to welcome him. “Hello! What’s your name, dear?” she asked kindly.

He looked up at me, unsure, his eyes glistening. Then came the tears, quiet at first, then loud, desperate sobs that tore straight into my heart.

“Mummy, please don’t go!”

The teacher smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, Mummy, we’ll handle it. He’ll settle down.”

But as I turned to leave, he clung tighter to my leg. And in that moment, I wasn’t a composed working mum, I was just a mother torn between doing what’s right and what feels unbearable.

I bent down, hugged him close, and whispered into his ear, “You’ll be fine, my love. Mummy will come back soon.”

He cried harder.

When the teacher gently led him inside, I stood outside the door for a few seconds, listening to his cries echo in the corridor. Every instinct in me screamed to go back, to scoop him up, to say, “Forget school, let’s go home.”

But I didn’t. I walked away, blinking back my own tears.

The ride home was the quietest drive of my life. His car seat was empty, and that emptiness echoed in my chest. The house felt too still when I walked in no cartoons playing, no toys scattered, no little voice calling, “Mummy, come and see!”

I made breakfast but couldn’t eat. I checked the clock every few minutes, counting down the hours until pickup time.

And then the guilt came — the familiar companion of every mother who has ever had to let go.

Was he crying?

Was he scared?

Did he eat his snacks?

Did he make any friends?

Was he wondering why I left him there?

I must have called the teacher twice before noon, pretending to be casual.

“Just checking in… how’s Daniel doing?”

The teacher chuckled. “He’s fine now, ma. He cried a bit at first, but he’s already playing with other children.”

Just like that, relief washed over me. But it was mixed with another feeling — the realization that he was adapting… without me.

When I arrived at the school gate that afternoon, I saw him running around with two other kids, laughing, his shirt untucked, his face smudged with crumbs.

“Mummy!” he shouted when he saw me. He ran into my arms, and that single word Mummy… felt like healing balm to my heart.

“How was school?” I asked.

He grinned, showing his missing front tooth. “We sang songs! And my teacher gave me biscuit!”

I laughed through teary eyes. All that morning anxiety melted away in that instant.

That day, I learned that motherhood is a constant journey of holding on and letting go.

We hold their hands through the early steps, we let go so they can walk.

We hold them close when they’re scared, we let go when they find their courage.

We hold their hearts with love, but we must let them grow wings.

It’s never easy and there’s no manual for how to handle the first day of school tears, no guide on how to calm your own emotions while pretending to be strong for them. But that’s what we do. We smile through the ache.

That night, as I tucked him into bed, he said softly, “Mummy, I like school. Can I go again tomorrow?”

I smiled, “Of course, my love. You can go every day.”

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, and I sat there, watching him, feeling that familiar tug in my chest…. pride mixed with nostalgia.

I realized that every mother experiences a thousand little heartbreaks in the process of raising a child…the first day of school, the first day of campout, the first time they don’t need help with homework, the first time they say “Mummy, I can do it myself.”

Each milestone is both joy and loss wrapped in one.

We don’t talk enough about the quiet bravery of mothers, the way we wipe our tears outside school gates, drive off pretending to be fine, and then spend hours praying that our babies are safe and happy.

Behind every smiling photo of a child on their first day of school is a mother holding back tears, whispering, “You’ll do great,” even as her heart whispers, “I’ll miss you.”

When I think back now, I realize that day wasn’t just my son’s first day of school, it was my first day too.

My first day of learning how to trust, how to release, how to let him experience the world without me beside him.

It marked the start of a new chapter…. where I’m no longer his entire world, but a steady anchor he can always return to.

And that’s the beautiful, bittersweet truth about motherhood:

It’s about giving them roots and teaching them to fly, even when watching them go brings tears to your eyes.

So yes, my son’s first day of school ended with tears, his and mine.

And every time I pass by a school now and hear the laughter of children, I smile because once upon a time, one of those cries was my baby’s.