ABSENCE does indeed make the heart grow fonder. When Daughter No 1 left home for a new life at university, there was sadness at her going, but exhilaration that we might just now be able to keep the house tidy.
There was also relief that we might get some sleep at night. Parents with babies always moan about how the new arrival plays havoc with their shut-eye. Well, at least they know where their offspring are. Parents of teenagers know babies are just a d
ress rehearsal for the nights when their children are out on the mean streets way past the witching hour and they are forced to lie awake, heart pumping, for the sound of a key.
That's what my wife tells me, anyway. Renowned for slumbering through the loudest of baby cries, I've no doubt done the same since our daughter discovered late-night parties. But, obviously, I share her pain and so Daughter No 1's move was something of a solution.
Then we started missing her. And she started missing us. We even began conversing like civilised human beings. Visits to see her became a trip to see a good old friend. She was confident, poised, enjoying her new life. She had risen to a new level of maturity.
Then she came home for the holidays and the free, independent, self-reliant spirit appeared to vanish the second she slid over the doorstep. She once again insisted on being fed on demand with her favourite foods. Her bedroom carpet disappeared. Amnesia clearly set in as she struggled to relocate domestic appliances such as the washing machine and the cooker. Her overwhelming tiredness after the strains of university life made a permanent dent in the sofa cushions, and she reclaimed possession of the TV remote control.
The jungle drums started sounding and her friends, scattered to the four winds since her departure, gravitated back. This time, as they are all over 18, I couldn't even tut disapprovingly as they slugged Smirnoff while applying their lip gloss.
Now reports suggest – as rising costs of getting on the housing ladder compel more young people to return home after university – this could be my future.
This time, it only lasted two weeks, then she flounced south again, with her fresh laundry and food supplies, saying: "At least at uni no one tells me what to do!"
"At least at uni, I can't see you," I replied. Thing is, several weeks on, I'm missing her again and I can't wait till she comes home for the summer break. Do parents never learn?
• Jeremy Watson is Scotland on Sunday's senior writer
The full article contains 441 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
