To the Young Mother across the Way

Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

You have the brightest, most adorable two-year-old, speaking sentences to me about the trash truck making its way to our end of the street. They’re absolutely elated. It’s trash day, the most exciting part of their day. It’s adorable. And it also breaks my heart.

It’s not your fault that you have to work from home while caring for two toddlers who are barely more than a year apart. The mental and emotional load must be immense. But I find myself judging anyway: “Why can’t she just speak to them differently?” I want to understand. I want you to do better — so, so much better — for them. Because they deserve it.

I’m writing this not to condemn, but to find my own empathy. I know you’re doing the best you can. And you deserve compassion, too.

You’ve said enough for me to understand that you’re already giving your children more than you had growing up. I know all too well what that’s like. But I also know that survival alone isn’t enough when it comes to raising kids, especially during these early years — the years that matter most.

Research in neuroscience and child development is unequivocal: the first five years of life are the foundation of everything to come. During this time, a child’s brain forms more than a million new neural connections every second. These early experiences — both nurturing and stressful — literally shape the architecture of the brain.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

According to the Center on the Developing Child at Harvard, early emotional and relational experiences directly impact long-term outcomes: self-regulation, empathy, executive function, and even physical health.

So yes — the tone of voice used, the presence or absence of physical affection, the opportunities for play and exploration — all of it matters, especially now.

I watch your toddlers — eager, curious, trying to make sense of their world — and I want to scoop them up and offer them the unstructured, safe, joyful exploration they seem hungry for. I hear them get scolded for what feels like normal toddler behavior. And I hear the tears that follow.

I’m not blaming you. I’m trying not to. You’re home, alone, working to earn a living while raising two tiny people. My own children were 29 months apart — yours are just 14. That alone is a mountain to climb.

I didn’t have to work when my kids were toddlers. I didn’t even go back to school until they were both enrolled themselves. And I was overwhelmed just trying to maintain my sense of self within the chaos of early parenting. Easy breezy it was not. I’m just saying, I do get the struggle.

I remember when you found out you were pregnant again, far sooner than expected. You said, “Well, I guess we’ll just get the hardest years over with quickly.” What else could you say? Your firstborn was still suffering from food sensitivities. Your just-as-young husband — a kind enough young man— was figuring out how to balance work and fatherhood. You were scared, but what was to be done about it? Buckle up, it’s gonna be a ride.

But here’s the part I can’t let go: now that both children are walking and talking, I see their toddlerhood being treated as something to get through, not to savor. I see children corrected more than cuddled. I hear their learning moments met with “No!” before they’re met with “Why?”

Toddlers aren’t mini-adults, no matter how verbal some may be. They are learning how to be human — how to move, express, communicate, connect. When they test limits or touch something they shouldn’t, or put everything in their mouth, they aren’t disobeying. They’re exploring. They’re seeking cause and effect. They’re looking to you for clues about safety, love, and belonging. Most of all, they’re seeking attachment.

Child psychologist Dr. Dan Siegel reminds us that connection must come before correction. He writes in The Whole-Brain Child that when we respond to big feelings with understanding instead of punishment, we teach children that their emotions are valid and manageable — a skill that supports all future relationships and emotional well-being.

I want to believe you and your partner know this. That you’ve read a little, asked a few questions, Googled some milestones. But maybe you haven’t had the time or energy. Maybe no one ever told you how important these first years really are. You weren’t given what you needed when you were little, so where do you start?

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

And that’s why I long to offer something — not judgment, but help.

What I want to say, ultimately, is this: I see you and your struggle, and I relate to it. I remember feeling like I was never doing enough, like I’d never catch up or breathe again. I remember wanting a break so badly, and then feeling guilty when I got one.

I miss kids. I miss being with them now that I’m not teaching. We’re not in any rush for grandbabies yet, but I still have that “mama bear” energy to give.

So — what’s the hardest time of day for you? I’d love to take your little ones for a walk, to play outside, to give them some room to roam and you some room to breathe. I promise: no judgment. Just a neighbor who believes your kids are magic — and who believes you deserve support, not shame.

We’re not meant to do this alone. I wish it were as easy to approach my young neighbor as it is to write out my thoughts and feelings on the situation.

I have reached out and been able to lend some loving support, but the cries that go uncomforted still trigger a heavy feeling in my gut.

I still struggle to not judge. I continue to practice compassion, sending love and giving hugs.

Now I’m reminded of a song from Pink: It Hurts to be Human. We’re all in this together, after all.