Climbed the mountain. Loving the view.
It happened in the supermarket checkout line, just as I placed a bag of apples on the conveyor belt.
My son, Oz, was three months old and had recently mastered the art of the gummy, wide-eyed smile. He was practicing it proudly on the woman behind the register. She clucked and cooed at him, her face lighting up before she turned to me with a well-meaning grin.
“How old is your grandson?” she asked.
My face instantly turned the color of the Red Delicious apples on the belt. I stumbled over my breath, the air in the store suddenly feeling thin.
“He’s my son,” I managed to mumble.
I didn’t realize it then, but Oldest Mom in the Class was born in that moment of hot, quiet shame.
Now, Oz is four. In the years between that checkout line and the preschool gate, I have been mistaken for his grandmother dozens of times. And while I don’t know if there will ever be a day when I don’t feel a sharp, inward flinch when it happens, I have reached a new conclusion: My age is not a deficit to be hidden; it is a profound depth of perspective.
I started this brand to blunt the edge of that initial shame and to rewrite the narrative of mid-life motherhood. As a teacher of history and literature, I know that the best stories aren't always the ones that start early—they are the ones written with the wisdom of a full life already behind them.
Being the oldest mom in the class isn't about being behind the curve; it’s about having a steady hand, a storied past, and the clarity to appreciate the present in a way I couldn't have in my twenties.
I’m glad you’re here. Let’s own the seniority.
What this space is:
Stories about motherhood, timing, and belonging.
Oldest Mom in the Class is a collection of stories about motherhood, identity, and the complicated, often unspoken experience of showing up to parenting life on a different timeline than you once imagined.
For some of us, that means becoming a mom later in life.
For some of us, that means long roads through fertility challenges, waiting, and hope.
For some of us, that means becoming a parents after an unthinkable loss or tragedy reshaped everything we thought we knew about timing.
And for all of us, it means arriving into motherhood carrying a story that isn’t always visible on the surface.
This space holds those stories.
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