Of course, it was never going to happen to you, the children growing up thing. Your babies would stay young and precious. They’d always be in the backseat while you drove them to soccer practice. The Family Years were unlimited. These children were just born, for God’s sake.
But somehow you are taking that tiny born baby to college. They packed up half their room and loaded the car like they didn’t just spend eighteen years directly under your feet. Literally, how dare they. This child doesn’t even know how to write in cursive, and what, he is just going to live in another city all of a sudden? With no one in charge of him? This kid you had to drag over the high school finish line? What an insane system.
Impossibly, it’s move-in day.
The college campus is positively jammed with Moms in Charge™?. They are carting thousands of Target and Home Goods bags, maybe millions. The dads have tools and instructions and many competing ideas on parking and unloading. If it is the oldest child moving in, there are little brothers and sisters. If it is the youngest child, she might have one parent. There are around 15,000 more cars than parking spaces on the entirety of the campus.
Your child’s dorm room is most certainly on the eighth floor, and with two working elevators for the entire building and around **checks notes** half a million freshmen moving in at the same time, this means you’ll be hauling all their worldly belongings up eight flights of stairs. The good news is, it is 101 degrees and the dorm is very poorly air-conditioned.
If you are moving in a girl, you load in matching bedding and throw pillows, twinkle lights, a Keurig station, closet organizers, wall art, a rug, coordinating bathroom supplies, desk decor, curtains, live plants, cozy lamps, a velvet rolling desk chair, and a beautiful sign for the door. If you are moving in a boy, you load in his clothes and tack up one oversized flag from Amazon.
You will make no less than but possibly more than three Walmart runs with what appears to be the entire population of the city. You forgot a trash can. You forgot lightbulbs. The dad’s screwdriver was no match for the cinder block walls so you need a package of Command Adhesive Hooks. You started out the day deep in your feelings, but by 3:45 p.m., the only emotion is heat stroke and passive aggressive energy toward your spouse.
But shockingly, all of a sudden it is done. The clothes are put away, the art is hung, the bed is made, the shower caddy is stored. You’ve double-checked outlets and switches. You’ve made all the polite chitchat you can with the roommate’s parents. The boxes and suitcases have been hauled back out. You keep looking around for maybe one more thing to do, because surely you are not about to leave your child in this utilitarian building with all these teenage strangers. Surely you are not about to drive home without this kid who has lived with you for 18 years. This can’t be how it works.
You walk downstairs with the last of the trash, and just like that, you are standing on the curb expected to say goodbye. Mamas, I hope you said everything you wanted to say earlier, because words will fail you in this moment. Your whole throat closes up looking at this beloved kid. All you can see is their first day of kindergarten. Where did it all go? How on earth is it over? This is too much to ask of you, the handing them over to young adulthood. Couldn’t you have just five more minutes of their little baby skin pressed against your cheek?
If you make eye contact, it’s over. Your big tall son or your shiny daughter will figure out that their home team is about to drive away, and everyone freezes. It’s okay. You’ve already said all the words. You’ve been saying them all year. Nothing to do but wrap that kid in your arms and thank God for every second you got to raise them. It’s time for this. They’re ready.
You will likely be a mess. My oldest dropped me at the Lubbock airport curb to fly home, and I had to go inside and put my head between my knees. (Three random college moms sat near each other on the plane, and our seatmates kept buying us wine and passing napkins.)
In D.C. with Sydney, we drove back to the hotel and I went straight to bed at 7:45 p.m. I called my brother and SIL and asked them to be waiting at my house with my six-month-old nephew Calvin because I needed a baby for my healing. I’ve sent all five kids off to their huge adventures — college, gap year program, Marines — and every time I woke up the next day with a cry headache.
But here is where you need to shine, Mamas. That kid might call on the first day, first week for sure, and she is wobbly. The bed is strange, the roommate is constantly six feet away, no one there knows or loves them, they might have made a mistake. The ship has left the harbor but isn’t sailing the wide open sea yet. Maybe they ought to just turn back to familiar land.
Do not over-respond to this bobble. This is going to pass. Do not get in your Suburban and race to back to rescue her. Don’t tell him to come home for his first weekend at college. Do not panic that your kid is a tragic hard luck case marked for despair.
It’s just weird for a minute! They’ve lived at home their entire lives! They haven’t found their friends or their groove yet. They are overwhelmed by how no one is making them do anything, and it’s awesome and a little bananas. Their professors are like “sink or swim, chumps” and that feels daunting after high school micromanagement. It’s just a lot all at once, and that is about the time they dial your number.
Steady, Mamas. Remind them of everything true: they are smart and interesting, capable and resourceful. They will find their people. Push them onward, don’t pull them backward. Let them manage a touch of discomfort; there is no other path to growth.
Don’t match their anxious energy, because they will read your response as confirmation of their incapacity. Stop stalking them on Find My Friends and sending constant texts. Don’t treat them like a helpless kindergartner. They are not as fragile as you think (or as they’re acting). Be a good listener but not an enabler; let them handle their own transition. They need to know they can. They need to know they will.
And they do. They find it. While you log your fifth sleepless night worrying about them, they’ll have already made best friends with their hallmates and stayed out dancing until 4:00 a.m. The road rises up to meet them. This is how it works, the growing up. That first step is a doozy for all parties involved. (To be clear: some of your kids were born for college life, and they will immediately go hog wild and you won’t hear from them for three weeks.)
Be excited for your amazing kid. They’re doing it. There they go, just like they are supposed to. And great news: college kids are so fun and adult kids are even better, so some of your best days are ahead. It’s not all over; it’s just different. Watching them grow up over the next few years is simply a wonder. They’ll impress you so much.
ANYWAY, my advice after drop-off is to come home to someone’s baby (any baby will do), a large glass of wine, a cozy blanket, and some Cheez-Its. This is the best therapy I can offer you. It will have to do the trick. You’ve done your job, dear ones. You finished this leg of the race. You’ve done a beautiful job with this treasure entrusted to you. What an honor. What a joy. Well done, sisters.
