One night, many years ago, I sat bolt upright in bed. What was that strange sound? The toilet flushing?

Not an unusual sound, but as I observed my husband next to me sound asleep, very odd. The only two adults in the house were still in bed. Then I realized we had children. But these children were very young and had never gotten out of bed in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

At that very moment, I realized we had entered a new epoch. I use that word purposefully because it means the beginning of a long period of history considered particularly significant. A child getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when she never had before was a step towards independence.

Okay, she was only about four years old, but as I attempted to fall back to sleep that night, I couldn’t help but dwell on its impact in my life. It was all I could do to not wake my husband up and tell him, “Our daughter went to the bathroom.” He would’ve thought I was crazy, because the child was well past potty training. But I’m a mother and those kinds of things weighed heavily on my mind. What did this mean? What next?

I thought of that night as my now graduated daughter walked out of the house, got into her car and went off to a friend’s house for the evening.

Though she is 18 years old, she still asked me if she could go. She’s well aware of her teenage dependence on her parents — graduated, but not able to function without us, yet. Besides, though we call it “her car,” it’s in my husband’s and my names and we have rules about the car.

But it was all I could do not to jump out of my chair and run after her. To take one last look, warn her of the dangers of the world, tell her to drive safely (the whole three miles), caution against stopping to give strangers directions, worrying that she’d go somewhere else without telling me and I’d never see her again.

I know, this is all very hysterical, that’s why I stayed in my chair, told her I loved her and prayed to myself.

Her father heard the front door open and close. Not knowing she had come to me to tell me what she was doing, he shot out off the couch, ran to the front door, declaring loudly that he heard the front door open and close. He flung the door open and watched his daughter walking to the car and yelled out to her, “Are you leaving?” She told him goodbye, then climbed into her car and drove off.

He came to me, somewhat perplexed, with the hang dog look of a rejected puppy, “Did you know she was leaving? Where is she going?” I told him, but still determined that I wouldn’t make a big deal didn’t get up and grieve the reality of how much our daughter has grown up.

It had happened before, our daughter going somewhere on her own. He went back to the family room with a sigh.

This morning I laugh at myself for my crazy sentiment. She came back safely, didn’t get in trouble, didn’t go anywhere she wasn’t supposed to go. I know, the next time she walks out of the house to go somewhere, I will have the same reaction and I will keep it to myself.

But still – I often long for the days when the most bewildering part of my life was the sound of the toilet flushing.

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. She is still sentimental whenever the toilet flushes. You can also read more of her writing and her daily blog on her website livingwithgleigh.com or on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh.”