It's one of those life moments that just sneak up on you and feels both like less a deal than you thought, and more a deal. M. is in the process of moving out to her new apartment in the city which she'll be sharing with three other friends. (So, yes, she is feeling much better, though really, really hates the lifting limits.) This was supposed to happen earlier this week, but her appendix had other ideas.
All this morning, she has coerced siblings to help her move, carrying things to the van, driving the van, carrying things into her new apartment. I think she plans on being moved in enough to sleep there tonight. It seems we have an official grown-up on our hands.
And I'm not quite sure what to make of it all. We are quite blessed that she is really just 25 or minutes away and will see her often. But this is different from moving onto campus, this is really moving out.
I'm not quite sure how this happened. I'm excited for her. She is ready for this. I also vividly remember moving into my first apartment at this age. It's good to remember how I felt at 22 and how perfectly ready I was to be responsible for myself. My parents were terrific about letting me be a grown-up and I will offer my daughter that same gift.
But even the velociraptors are moving. And it's weird.