Today was day three of my daughter’s ‘school’ career. She wasn’t too happy when I began to extricate myself from her grasp to head to work. She began crying and begging “I want to go home now!” and “Don’t leave me!” It was brutal.

I hugged and kissed her many times and assured her that I would be back at 1 p.m. to pick her up. I professed my love and slunk away.

After a gut-churning commute to work, I eventually relaxed into my workday. I began to research two feature articles I’m writing, and became thoroughly engrossed. At some point, my stomach reminded me that it was lunchtime, and I looked up at the clock.

It was 1:20 p.m.

It was like one of those nightmares that parents have, except it was real. I was really twenty minutes late to pick up my daughter, and twenty additional minutes away. I shrieked obscenities and dashed to my car.

I called the school as I bolted down Rte. 3 at 80 mph. One of her teachers placated me minutely by assuring me that she was not, as I fretted, sobbing uncontrollably and wailing my name. She had teared up briefly, but was able to be distracted with a sticker project.

I ran down the school hallway (setting a fine example) and peered in the classroom door. Relief flowed over me as I saw my sweet daughter calmly working at a little table, affixing stickers to colored paper. I tiptoed in (as the rest of the class was already down for their nap), and approached her. “Mommy!!!” she exclaimed happily, rushing to me. “My mommy came back!” she blissfully informed the dozing class. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mommy! I’m so glad to see you!”

My mother had already warned me that certain events in my parenting experience would “haunt” me for the rest of my days. Chalk up my first, horrible one.