My Pookie is moving to France, but at least he’s on speed-dial

Pookie left home. He’s been gone six nights now. Don’t worry about drug crime, says his new inner-city landlord, because we don’t have any problems with dealers here: the pimps chase them away.

But I paraphrase, because the new landlord was speaking in French. Yes, my baby now lives in Paris.

I suppose I should know how my parents felt when first my sister and then I said goodbye, going to Cape Town, to London, going travelling, going far away.

I remember cherished letters, postcards like wishes, hideously expensive international calls. But things are different now.

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Thanks to the wonder of the internet, FaceTime and WhatsApp, we’re in touch all the time, me, him and my older son.

This is probably the third time he’s gone away for longer than a few nights.

He spent three months as a waiter in the US, a summer travelling by train across Europe, but this time is for real.

This time he’s moved to France with his girlfriend and two pals.

The other three are job-hunting, but my boy has worked for the last two years, saving money so he can study further, and now he’s doing his Masters at a French university in some deeply scientific subject that I don’t understand.

If you think I’m mom-bragging, just wait till he gets his PhD.

Pookie is 24, he’s long-since weaned and over six foot tall, but still he’s my boy going off into the world as a man.

I feel I should be sadder… Yet truly, it’s like he’s hardly left.

He’s right here, in my pocket, on speed-dial.

He’s also in a ninth-storey apartment, living on baguettes, cheese and cheap wine in the colourful neighbourhood of Montmartre.

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(The bright edifice of Sacre-Coeur atop the hill blocks his view of the Eiffel Tower, but he’s coping admirably with this deprivation.)

I’ve already had a full guided video tour of his new home without leaving my own. I’ve looked inside his food cupboard, suggested storing garlic in the fridge – it keeps longer – and laughed at his pink loo paper.

I even “sat” on his balcony with him while he ate lunch, propped against his water glass.

He plans on staying for a year. I suspect this time is forever. But I can drop by, online, anytime.