It's official. My baby has moved out of home.
It wasn't an actual day I can mark on my calendar. It wasn't done with any fanfare, or even after a row, but it has happened nonetheless.
Oh, and she considers herself to be engaged... at the age of 18 and a half. She has a proper engagement ring and all, which her boyfriend gave her on the one year anniversary of their being together. She doesn't plan on getting married until she's 20 or so though, she reassured me.
Of course her room here is still hers - and will remain so until she no longer wants it. But since the end of last year, she's gradually spent more and more time staying over at her boyfriend's place (at his parents' house to be precise), that it has reached a point that I can no longer claim her as a dependent.
She's been giving his address as hers for a while now... and when the Tax dept and Medicare know she's moved out, it's time to make it official.
We had a perfectly civilised conversation about it last time she was here and we agreed I needed to let Centrelink ( Oz' social security) know that she was no longer in my care.
Since the last school holidays in May, I've been lucky to see her even once a week, although we often chat on FB ( Not to go off on a tangent, but I really don't get how young folk prefer to keep in touch this way!)
Anyway I was surprised how hard it was to make that call. Both physically and emotionally. I put it off for about three days, before I could bring myself to tell them.
It didn't help that the faux human switchboard and I just couldn't work things out. (Grr I really hate the way they 'work') But when I finally reached a human at the other end of the line, I got an honest- to-goodness lump in my throat as I tried to tell him that the two of us had kind of drifted to this point, and that she no longer lived at home with us.
Anyway, the operator - an older man, judging from his voice - said, quite sensitively I thought."Yes, but she'll always be your daughter and you'll be her Mum." and I was able to take a deep breath, bite the bullet, grit my teeth etc etc and say, OK let's say the 30th June is the 'date' she moved out.
A few keystrokes later and it was done.
I don't know why I'd resisted the acknowledgment for so long. Maybe I harboured a hope that this relationship would run its natural course and she would move back home - and things would go back to normal, but that's not how it's played out.
Instead Andrea and Rob have made a commitment to each other - and how can I complain about that? He's a decent country lad, and he adores her.
Plus it's a lovely ring. He clearly has great taste both in women AND in jewellery.
But she seems settled and very happy - and really, that's all any parent can want for her child.
I may not be totally thrilled about the path they took, but I also know that if I had tried to stop her, I would probably be seeing even less of her now.
Rob lost his grandfather last week. The funeral was today. Andrea offered to move back here for a while if he wanted some space to grieve with his family, but he told her that would make him even sadder if she wasn't there.
She stayed... and she held his hand at the funeral. It was her first.
She told me she felt like a 20th wheel, since she hardly knew anyone there. But she was there for him.
I guess my baby really is growing up.
