I’ve been a right old weepy wreck since the A-level results and confirmation that Rosie’s off to university this weekend.  I dunno.  What a schmaltz-hound.  Richy and the other kids have been very patient and supportive as I’ve blubbed walking around the supermarket, passing old favourites like bourbon biscuits, hot chocolate and tuna, seeing a box set of Desperate Housewives in HMV, walking past her old primary school at chucking out time.

I sort of hoped that I was getting the pain over with in advance, rather than when/after she left. That I was experiencing some sort of emotional cleansing, so I could focus on how positive the move was for Rosie.  Celebrate what an achievement it is and wave her off cheerfully . But no. I cranked up seamlessly into a totally embarrassing, publicly sobbing wreck as she left in a packed car this morning.

It went too fast I think.  All those different childhood experiences and milestones shifted, merged and transformed without us noticing sometimes. Like the last time bedtime story, the last goodnight kiss, the last letter to Father Christmas, the last tooth falling out.  Now I’m wandering around the house, looking through old photos and remembering holidays, birthday parties, her crazy friends round, the bickering, tears and laughter.

Pretty daft feeling like this, I know. She’ll be back in ten weeks. We’ve always known it’s the gig. She’s only three hours away on the train and with skype/facebook/mobile phones, she is no distance at all. But symbolically, the change is enormous.

Tonight she starts her new life, in her tiny room in Manchester. She’s grown into a fun, determined and decent young person and I’m going to miss her like crazy-o.  Even if she did leave her monkey behind (with her baby trousers on) and hasn’t set up her skype to be on permanently like I asked her.