“We did it,” I said to my husband last Friday morning. I didn’t have to explain what “it” was. 

He understood the happiness and heartache all wrapped up in that simple three-word sentence. 

It was 18 years ago this week that this column announced the arrival of a new member of my family to the world. 

We have officially raised a child all the way to what society considers adulthood. 

We are thrilled. 

We are heartbroken. 

We are caught in a tennis match between the two as we contemplate high school graduation and the impending trip to college drop-off. 

The uncomfortable truth is that this is the goal. We work for 18 years to one day see our hearts ripped in two as they strap on their wings and flap up, up, up away from that nest we oh, so carefully built for them. 

In the past 18 years, this column has been where I’ve made sense of so much of parenting, of curious quirks and confounding problems. It’s where I’ve shared silly stories and the serious ones too. It’s why, at 18, this child of mine is still meeting people who share that they’ve watched them grow up from afar. It’s been part of my work to craft a nest that’s solid and strong. 

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and you, my readers are part of that village. 

And so to you I say three simple words. 

“We did it.”