We showed up on campus at eight-oh-seven. The Volvo was packed from front to back, and there was already a line of about fifteen college-bound freshmen ahead of us. One mother who later told me they’d just driven down from Michigan was already red-faced from the heat and, I’m sure, the realization that it was going to be a looooong day.
One more roundtrip from Tampa to downtown St Petersburg behind us, a trip to Target and the local Publix to pick up a ton of food, and we’re done. Boy is officially moved into the dorms.
Carrie asked me to text her when we were finally all done, so she could lend support if needed. I texted. She called. And there are no tears.
Even when Boy and I said good-bye at the car, there were no tears.
What the Hell is wrong with me?
Shouldn’t I be bawling? Shouldn’t I be bemoaning my fate as a mom with no child at home any longer?
Or maybe I should be happy, feel somehow free. Shouldn’t I already have plans to go hang out at bars and act irresponsible with my other child-free girlfriends?
I keep getting looks from my friends. Those looks that ask, “No, how are you really doing?”
And I’m fine. I’m fine because I know he is fine. And that he will be fine. As a matter of fact, he’ll be great.
The tears? They’ll come. It will probably hit me in a few weeks when I’m in the middle of washing the bathtub, and then I’ll cry.
But for now, I’m fine.