The long-awaited nursery school... but somehow, I don't feel quite right

My daughter has started nursery school.

By autumn and winter, I had reached my mental limit. Every day was a mystery, not knowing when the wailing would start or end. I was exhausted just by having my daughter, who should have been adorable, by my side, and I felt deeply relieved whenever my husband took her out for a walk. If I sent her to nursery school, I was sure I would have more peace of mind. Like a child going on their first field trip, I counted down the days until April.

April 1st, one hour of trial nursery care.

The moment I entrusted her to the nursery teacher at the entrance and let go of her hand, my daughter began to cry as if she had been set on fire. Weren't we just walking along happily together? Wasn't that a walk? Where am I? Her eyes were desperate, as if she were pleading or clinging to me. Clear tears filled those eyes and spilled onto her gingham smock. Oh, I have to wipe them. No, I have to go. Even though I had been waiting for this day, my chest tightened. Ugh... This is a necessary pain, growing pains, right...?

"I can't believe you'd put your child in nursery school while they're still so small."

A memory from a lunch break at work crossed my mind. I remembered a colleague who used to look down and smile bitterly, saying, "It's tough to hear that..." I thought that now, I could put my arm around her and talk back. (The cuteness of a child and the mental and physical exhaustion of parenting can coexist! Women have the right to work just like men! Keep your mouth shut, you Showa-era old lady!) And yet, after leaving the gate, the feeling that "maybe I am doing something terrible by leaving her here" welled up. It was a sense of guilt, like I had abandoned a pet I had been doting on by the side of the road. "I'm sorry. Please, I hope a kind person finds you." "Even if it sounds kind, these are the words of a criminal." ...I remember a commercial like that. No, this is completely different. There are kind nursery teachers there. And yet.

During the precious time alone away from my child, I usually forget about my daughter. And yet, I feel restless. Maybe it's because the time is so awkward. The image of my daughter crying earlier is burned into my mind, and I keep looking up at the clock in the cafe. When I was having a trivial conversation with my husband, the hour ended in a flash, and I felt relieved that the time had passed so quickly.

I had a junior colleague who left the workplace, saying she couldn't bring herself to send her child to the nursery school she had been assigned to. At the time, I was surprised, thinking, "You're throwing away your career? Giving up tens of millions you could earn from now on?" but now I understand her feelings.

I happened to get into a nursery school with a good location and hours, the teachers are veterans, and I feel like I can leave her there with peace of mind. I have also fully enjoyed my days with my daughter, who was born in April. But what if this were a different nursery school? What if she were younger? I would probably be thinking, "Is it okay to leave her here?" or "Should I stay with her a little longer?" It's natural to have doubts. Even for me, who had no bad conditions and had been looking forward to the enrollment for so long, I am still wandering between the desire to leave her and the guilt.

The seesaw of the heart isn't a binary opposition between "I want to work" and "I want to raise my child." It's more like a ten-way opposition. Is it an environment where I can leave her with peace of mind, how close is it to home, how cooperative is the school, does the child like the school...? My heart sways back and forth, seesawing over whether to "leave her" or "not leave her" based on various factors. It doesn't just sway in two directions; it sways 360 degrees—southeast, northwest, due south... As a result, I suppose people choose their path forward. If I were to leave my job like my junior colleague, it would surely be when the seesaw had swayed in every direction and broken.

I think nursery school is a wonderful place. Nutritious homemade lunches, lots of picture books and toys, a large room where she can crawl to her heart's content, many seasonal events, and friends... She can experience so many things that I, as a mother alone, could never provide no matter how hard I tried. It's like my daughter, who has only been eating natto and rice, is going to a top-tier French restaurant.

But, my daughter might be a peculiar person who says, "Actually, I prefer natto and rice over French cuisine." Even this little human might be thinking, "I want to be with my mother."

In the end... I just don't know what my daughter is thinking.

During the trial nursery care, my daughter checked on me several times out of the corner of her eye while watching TV, took a bath half-asleep because she was tired, and slept soundly without fussing.

Children are helpless, in a weak position, and have no choice but to live in the environment prepared by adults. If they are told they are going to nursery school, they have no choice but to obey.

I saw an opinion on social media that you just have to make the path you choose the right one. I strongly agree. But then, what is the right answer? How can I make it the right answer?

Soon, I will surely be busy with work, still doing my best to keep up with my daughter even with the help of the nursery school, complaining with a beer in hand, and living days where I fall asleep like mud from exhaustion. I want to spend my time without losing that modest initial intention of wanting to make the environment for the child in front of me the right one, but I wonder if even that will be difficult. I want to ask my future self.