Standing in my kitchen, I had a random thought that made me feel like I was in a Hitchcock film.  You know that push-pull camera effect (the dolly zoom) where it feels like things are zooming in and out at the same time?  I lost my bearings.   My knees buckled.

In a little over four years, my daughter and only child will no longer be living in our house.  And she can’t wait.

Four years may seem like an eternity to a teenager, but to a parent, it’s the blink of an eye.  It was just yesterday when I was dropping her off at preschool as we repeated our habitual leave-taking mantra.  Her: “Mommies always come back?”  Me: “Yes.  Mommies always come back.”  And that has been proven to her every day for the last 11 years.

It all goes by too fast.  From baby to teen, from Montessori preschool to high school tours.  We have stepped into a wormhole.

We’re discussing learning to drive, AP and IB classes, college prep and scholarships.  Sex and relationships.  Drinking.  Drugs.  Personal responsibility.  Part of me longs for the days of Teletubbies, The Wiggles, and Spongebob.  Part of me still wants to help her with her bath, pick out her clothes, and brush her hair every morning.  I find myself looking back at those days more frequently,  more fondly.

As with everything, these things fade.  Nothing gold can stay.  Already it’s a fate worse than death to have no plans on the weekend.  Instead of being the smartest, coolest mom in the world, I’m finding I’m not so cool and actually kind of nerdy and goofy.  A lot of things just aren’t my business anymore.  When I try to participate in conversations with “the girls”,  I can catch traces of sarcastic humoring in their voices. I recognize it because I invented it.   I still have a decent fashion sense, however, so I do have that going for me.

But she still comes to me when she has a problem, is confused or sad, or wants to talk.  She trusts me.  She knows I’m not going anywhere. For that I am grateful.

We are in the process of raising an exceptional person.  We have raised a daughter who is concerned about the issues that will affect her future and the futures of her peers.  She’s informed and active in the causes she cares about.  She’s intelligent, kind, fair-minded and independent.  She’s excited about the diverse student body of her prospective high school.   As much as I hate to relinquish control of anything,  I’m beginning to realize that I’ll be comfortable with her generation in the driver’s seat.

She still knows that Mommies always come back.  Here’s to hoping children always come back as well.