My kids are nearly six years apart in age. My daughter is the oldest and is now a mom herself. She owns a home with her partner. She hasn’t lived at home with us since 2018. She’s all the way grown.

My son graduated college in 2024 and has been gainfully employed for ten months, but since his job is nearby, he’s been living at home to save money. Now that’s about to change—as it should. He and his buddies found an apartment in the city and he’s moving out Tuesday.

I will miss him, but at least he’s not moving to New York. I know I’ll get to see him. Heck, he could even come over for dinner after work (our house is that close to his job). Still, it is the end of an era. If all goes well, he won’t move back in with us, probably ever. No more seeing what he wears to work each morning. No more casual chats with my husband after work about the Patriots’ latest roster moves.

I didn’t intend to space out my kids by six years. It was more like I was very happy with one child, but then when the biological window started closing, I had second thoughts.

But maybe it worked out in my favor? By spacing my kids out so far, I became a grandma before my nest was truly, permanently empty. Having an adorable baby granddaughter in my life takes the sting out of my own little birdie flying the coop.

Babies don’t keep.