My daughter started preschool recently and I didn’t cry, and neither did she. I think there are a few reasons why.

Let me back up.

When my son started preschool after we put him on the bus, I cried, sobbed, in a ball on the floor. There are a few reasons for this. My son is my first. Naturally the first is the hardest. He is also autistic. I was concerned about elopement—him wandering off, which is not something I worry about with my daughter.

But I think the biggest difference for me is I sent my son on his third birthday. I sat on that floor after watching him go out to the bus and thought, just three years ago he was in my belly and now he is out in the world. That thought still brings tears to my eyes today.

My experience with my daughter was a bit different. I have hopes and fears for her too, of course, but they were very different. Would she make friends? Would she have fun? Would she adjust to the structure?

Still, as I let go of her little hand and watched her run off, I didn’t cry. I knew we were both beyond ready for this day to come.