So my eldest daughter started University this week, which is
surprising really as she is only seven years old. Well in my head she is anyway. I can still see her in her bridesmaid dress
when me and the Mrs got married, she really was seven then and in a part of my
brain she’s kind of stuck there - forever innocent, immune to the charms of
alcohol and late nights. I have a
picture of that moment that sits facing me every time I sit at the breakfast
bar in the kitchen, which is every day, but in the 10 years odd that it’s been
on the wall I don’t think I’ve looked at it until this week. Sure I’ve seen it before, smiled at it, ahh
isn’t she cute at it, but I never really looked at it until she left.
I have to be honest, I didn’t really think her starting Uni
would impact on me too much. Sure I knew
I would worry about her, anyone that can slice through a tendon in their finger
getting ice cream out of a tub needs to be worried about (she was using a carving
knife…I know), but I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of helplessness that would
accompany the worry. She is 280 miles away,
I can’t just run upstairs and make things right for her. I can’t make sure she’s getting enough sleep,
enough food, enough anything.
She’s her own woman now and I have to let go.
But it’s more than just letting go, it’s about changing my
whole mindset. How do you bring up a
child who’s an adult? When a toddler is
starting to walk you child-proof the house – you make sure all sharp corners
are rounded, you make sure there is nothing they can pull down on themselves,
you make sure the electrical sockets are covered. But how do you child-proof a University? I can’t make sure she’s doing her
course-work, I can’t vet the tattooed half-wit she met in the Student Union, I
can’t even make sure that she drinks JD instead of Vodka so people know she’s
drunk and not stupid.
I’ve prepared her the best that I can, I’ve taught her to
cook (kind of), I’ve taught her to do her washing (but not how to hang it up so
you don’t have to iron it) and I’ve taught her how to take verbal abuse (then
dish it back in spades). I tried to
teach her how to keep a bedroom tidy, but failed. I tried to teach her that all men are bad
news, another failure. I tried to teach
her to look after her money but who am I kidding, I failed that one myself and
still do.
I’m missing her.
I know, it’s crazy. How
can you miss someone that gets up at the crack of noon on a regular basis? How can you miss someone who steals all your
bandwidth with the constant downloading of Christ knows what? How can you miss constantly answering the
door to the postman who has another five packages from eBay, all addressed to
her?
But I do.
Every time I drive home from the morning school run I wonder
if I’m going to be greeted by the blaring music that indicates she’s up as I
open the door – and every time I open the door to silence I’m surprised and
then I remember, she’s not here anymore.
Every time I go to have a shower and there’s still hot water left, I’m
puzzled - and then I remember, she’s not here to use it all anymore.
I miss her rants about something being ‘un-realistic’ in an
episode of Futurama and her missing the irony of that statement. I miss watching her and Kaede watching Doctor
Who. I just miss.
I am happy for her, I really am. It was us that insisted that she would get a
better University experience if she wasn’t living at home and it wasn’t just
because a small part of me was looking forward to getting the big bathroom
back. I genuinely believe that this will
be the making of her, this will shape her future, mould her into the awesome
woman that I know she is. I’m just not
ready to share her with the world yet.
It doesn’t help when I read Facebook entries like ‘Going to Wet &
Wild UV Foam Party, 21.00 to 03.00’.
Then again it’s my fault for reading it, I may have to un-friend her.
I’m having to learn a new way of communicating with her
(mostly by text of course), a non-judgemental, you’re a big girl now type
way. I find that if I ignore my first reaction,
pause for a 10-count and then reply, it seems to work. As I’m writing this she’s just text me to say
that she’s going surfing today in Newquay.
Naturally, it being mid-September an’ all, I felt obliged to tell her to
not run around with wet hair or she’ll catch her death. I can just imagine the face she pulled when
she read that.
I’m slowly getting used it though, my heart seems to be
mending though there’s still a hole there that will only be filled when she
comes back at Christmas. And I’m sure
that when she does, dragging a suitcase of washing to be done, all will be well
again and I can go back to moaning about the lack of bandwidth, water and
silence.