Fantasy of living la vida loca in dirty 30s fading fast

To be honest, I had not actually realised just how permanent the responsibility of parenting is when it all started. I was a few months shy of 22.

I always thought argh, he will be 18 soon and moving into some or the other university residence and I can enjoy the last few years of my 30s and begin a new life at 40!

Then he repeated Grade R because I wanted him to learn his home language ... and recently opted to repeat a grade to improve his mathematics.

See, that means an additional two years under my wing as a scholar – literally wiping out that fantasy of living la vida loca in my dirty thirties!

The plan was that as soon as he was at varsity, I would pack the little stuff he left behind and convert his bedroom into a dressing room, then have him sleep on the couch on his term breaks so that he realises the urgency of getting his own little flat.

I should have known better, really. I mean, look at me. I still call my mother every day and drive down to her house every time I feel like I am failing at adulting. I moved out at the age of 17, yes, but I have remained a child until now.

With me it is so bad that I still have a full closet at home, including toiletries and swimwear. I have this delusion the spare bedroom is mine, even though I have other siblings who use same for all their home visits.

Yet the thought of housing my son's sneakers and caps for the next 25 years makes me want to weep.

What makes things worse in my case is that he is not quite sure if he wants to go to a tertiary institution  straight after school. He just might stay in his 20th year of his life in my house.

I think having a bed and a comfortable seat in his bedroom may have made him a tad too comfortable here. Oh, and since learning to cook for himself, he must really feel like he is sorted in life.

So I have already started preparing myself for a lifetime of nesting the kid. It seems inevitable.

I might just be 50, coming back from a hectic evening of drinks and discussions of the best anti-ageing creams and exercises that don't strain the ... only to find my son home waiting for me to tell him where I put the Aromat.

I must say, though, that I would take the option of having a child that plans to stay at home indefinitely, over the other possibility where he just never wants to visit or have anything to do with me or home.

I would rather be cocooning him and helping search for his socks and reminding him to brush his teeth well into his 30s than spend days on end wondering if he will ever come back home.

I guess a big part of me is praying that no matter how successful he may become, no matter how liberated he gets, that every moment he needs company and love, he still wants to come back home, even if it means staying for a little while.

Just like I still do with my mother.