The past year has been a transitional one. Although said lifeform was still in the family nest he was legally an independent dweller. He worked and paid board.
University was always on the cards - we just weren't sure which one he would decide to attend.
He took the year off to get some real life work experience under his belt and was also able to save hard for those things so important to any teenage male - a great late model car (not a dodgy hunk of junk), with insurance, I might add; a flat screen TV; a laptop computer; and his own Xbox One (not one that had to be shared with the clones).
There are also the latest fashions - designer brands only - so, overall, he did well for himself.
As a parent, it's interesting to sit back and see how they choose to dispose of their income. It tells you a lot about them.
Despite my lack of maternal instincts, I still worried about how he would cope when he was truly on his own. The withered old crone and I would sit over coffee, discussing our fears of the two-minute noodle diet and his living conditions in general.
I was haunted by some horrific images of "student flatting", imagining mould-covered walls and carpets, holes in walls, and kitchens and bathrooms that resembled permanent crime scenes. It got so bad I even pictured a "forever empty" fridge that boasted a cast of emaciated cockroaches prepared to perform for crumbs, and a toilet that makes world headlines for spawning several new organisms, never before known to man.
I gained comfort in the knowledge my boy would not be alone. He would be sharing this experience with his long-time best friend. Different courses, but same university and flat. They could starve to death together ... I felt ever so reassured.
As February rolled round I was entrusted with one final motherly act. The purchase of household items for the newly-found and remarkably well-presented student flat.
Taking a few hundred dollars from his savings, I embarked on my mission to find the best quality for the least amount of money.
With Waitangi Day sales coming to my rescue, I was able to get him everything he needed. A luxury linen package, thick and thirsty bath towels, pillows, bathroom accessories and one carefully chosen noodle bowl.
His favourite black and white one, purchased three years ago, would stay in our cupboard for his return visits.
Such is his relationship with a family pet - a cat named Rebo - we briefly discussed custody and visitation rights. It was decided Rebo would stay put but they could Skype at anytime.
We then decided it was only right to have a "last supper".
He spent the day transporting all his worldly possessions to Palmy, then picked up his girlfriend while I picked up McDonald's and we all met for dinner.
This was it, his last night "at home". Come lunchtime the next day he would set off for his first night in his newly-feathered nest.
He loaded the car with the last of his personal belongings along with my housewarming gift of a fresh black pepper grinder (he uses so much of it the white of the mashed potato on his plate disappears altogether).
I really will miss his little ways - the pepper fetish and his insistence at using a cake fork at every available opportunity.
It's time ... we hug it out on the deck, my voice is breaking and I'm trying, not very well, to hold back the tears. For all my bluster, the moment is more emotional than I thought it would be. I feel a mixture of pride, joy and sadness topped off with a healthy dose of apprehension.
The withered one and I watch on as he heads down the driveway and disappears around the corner ... he's gone.
Would you bloody believe it? He was back the very next night for dinner and he stayed over. I was right all along, no matter what you do, you can never get rid of them.
Parasitic vermin, I tell you ... but Rebo was pleased to see him.
Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother of three, currently searching for a missing cake fork. Feedback to investik8@gmail.com
