Tempus Fugit

And suddenly, my baby is 18.

It's a strange feeling. Looking at my daughter and realising she is, in fact, a fully-grown adult about to leave home. My daughter spent her 18th birthday with the obligatory lockdown 'party' - five friends shivering in the garden sitting two metres apart sipping Passionfruit Martinis. Not quite the mad celebration she imagined. But the grace and stoicism with which she accepted it made me proud.

It seems only ten minutes ago that she was a baby. My husband and I brought her home from hospital, carfully wrapped up against the cold. We nicknamed her 'Beanie' because she was like a little bean, all curled up. We deposited her in the middle of the sofa surrounded by pillows and looked down at her sleeping face. Both of us were thinking the same thing: "Now what?"

As the years unfolded we experienced the joy of her first words, her first steps, her first bike ride. We taught her how to read, brush her teeth, tie her own shoelaces. And we learned things too: her elbows dislocated freakishly easily and headlice are buggers to get rid of.

As she got older, the lessons changed. Don't drink too much, don't stay out too late, wear a coat or you'll catch your death. Who are you with? Isn't that skirt a bit short?! She accused me of nagging when I got upset that she wasn't home when she said she'd be, or when I wouldn't let her go to parties in London till the early hours with strangers. She thought I was paranoid when I demanded to know where she was at all times so I knew she was okay.

Teenagers think they're immortal, don't they?!

She taught me and her dad things too. She's funny. She's smart. She's fundamentally a fair and decent person. She and her fellow youths are determined to make a better world. They fiercely believe in equality and opportunity for all. And they're willing to demand change if things aren't right. My daughter, like many of the younger generation, is a firm believer that governments have to do more to halt global warming and she often went on marches and signed petitions. I know protests arent limited to young folk but honestly, to see her and her compatriots take to the streets made me hopeful that the world is in good hands.

Like every other A-level student in the UK, she completed her teacher-led assessments under the cloud of lockdown. Now we have to wait to see if she has the grades she needs to go to Manchester University, the place she's set her heart on. Wherever she goes, I know she'll be okay.

Being a parent has been a steep learning curve for me and my husband. And now, as she stands on the cusp of her future, we'll have to learn one more thing. How to manage without her.

She's ready to fly and we can only stand back and wish her a brilliant journey.