Miss E gave me a new title this week. Before bed one night, I told her daddy would bring her and her sister to daycare and I would pick them up.
Without skipping a beat, she asked, “Can you please not be the last mom?”
“The last mom?” I asked.
“The last mom to arrive at daycare at the end of a day,” she described.
In Miss E’s eyes, it’s the scarlet letter of a working mom. Our girls attend a small home daycare. She knows each mom who comes and goes. Since I’m usually the last mom who picks up her kids at the end of the day, I now hold that title.
I’ll own that title with minimal mom guilt. I often show up to games, in my work attire, right before tipoff. I’ve been balancing the tightrope of career and family for years. I can’t be everywhere at once, but I would rather be the last mom at the game or the last mom at daycare than be the mom who missed it altogether.
Sometimes being the last mom is my favorite time of the day, such as when I’m the last mom at the park with her kids. Those are the moments I soak in, amidst the chaos of life. I’ve felt my share of mom guilt, but most days I try to sit on the floor and play with my kids. We read a couple of books and talk about their day. In those moments, I’m a mom—and only a mom. The mom who sees Miss A capture the first lady bug of the season.
“Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.” Proverbs 22:6