Daycare in Japan
This week, Hithesh began his journey at a Japanese hoikuen. It was not a full day initially — actually, not even half a day. It was just two small hours, a kind of soft opening of the door to a world that will soon become familiar to him.
Before he started, both of us went to the hoikuen with our little boy for an interview. We were informed about everything he would need while staying there. All his belongings were clearly labeled with his name — extra clothes, diapers, meal aprons, handkerchiefs, water bottle, shoes — everything was neatly set and packed into his little bag.
A small note about his previous night’s dinner, his temperature, and other daily details is in a note. As soon as we entered, his eyes scanned the unfamiliar room. Then, unexpectedly, he rested his head on the sensei’s (teacher) shoulder, astonishing both me and his papa. But when it was time for us to wave goodbye, he started crying. My heart felt unbearably heavy.
Yes, it was just two hours. But for me, those two hours felt heavy with emotion.
It was the first time I was without this teeny tiny human soul. When I left, walking back through the quiet street, I realized how loud my thoughts had become. Was he looking for me? Should I be there more? Was he playing, or standing quietly, unsure? Parenthood has a way of stretching the heart in thousands of directions you never knew existed. You trust, and you worry at the exact same time.
By the time I went to pick him up, he was crying, and I felt completely shattered. The sensei (teacher)spoke to me gently and said that he did play, but also cried, which was true, especially because it was his usual sleeping time. Once he came into my arms, he held me tightly and rested his head on my shoulder. I became so emotional, my eyes filled with tears. I paused for a moment, gathered myself, and then we came back home.
These first days in nursery is not about routines, discipline, or even learning. They are simply about getting used to being there — getting used to new smells, new sounds, new faces, and a new rhythm of life.
Both my husband and I thought that “if he could talk, we would have asked him what happened there.” But he can’t — and that hurt deeply.
For these two hours, he may not “fit in.” I understand this — but still, I feel like crying. My husband reminded me that adjustment takes time, and time is something they are willing to give.
Those words softened the burden on my shoulders.
In a foreign country, raising a child far from what once felt familiar, motherhood reminds me that care can look different across cultures, but kindness feels the same everywhere. And sometimes, two hours is exactly enough to begin something meaningful — that is what I kept telling myself.
If you’re a parent standing at the edge of a similar transition, know this: it’s okay to feel proud and anxious all at once. It’s okay to miss them even when you know they are safe.
My dear readers, I need to ask such a lengthy set of question from you,
Have you ever experienced that first separation from your child? How did it make you feel?
Did the smallest goodbye ever feel heavier than you expected?
How long did it take for your child to adjust to daycare, preschool, or hoikuen?
What helped you the most during those early adjustment days — time, reassurance, or support from others?
Do you believe slow transitions help both parents and children?
If you are raising a child in a foreign country, what moments have challenged you the most emotionally?
Have you noticed differences in childcare or parenting culture where you live now?
How do you feel?
