• I started making my daughter's bed when she was little and still do it now that she's 18.
• I plump her pillows and make it a comfortable place for her to return to.
• Now that her departure to college is approaching, I'm trying to do as many things for her.

I remember when my daughter was a little girl of around 5. While she was out at school, I would carefully make her bed before I set off for work.

I'd plump up her pillows, usually adorned with princesses or mermaids or whatever Disney character she was obsessed with at the time. I'd fluff out her duvet and artfully arrange her array of fluffy cushions, placing her selection of beloved toys and teddy bears in just the right line-up to welcome her home. I wanted to make sure my little girl's bed was a lovely, cozy place for her to fall asleep in and ensure the sweetest of dreams.

The problem is, 13 years on, I still make her bed.

I make her bed every morning

Of course, the bedding designs have changed. Now, there are cool abstract swirls and patterns instead of princesses; the teddy bear waiting on her pillow is a gift from her boyfriend, not a bedraggled childhood comforter. And instead of tucking a fleecy nightie under her pillow, I'm folding up a sexy silk Victoria's Secret camisole.

Each morning, as she heads out for high school, blowing me kisses over her shoulder, I know she is more than capable of making her own bed before she leaves or even, heaven forbid, leaving it unmade for a day or so. But somehow, without fail, I find myself uncontrollably drawn to her bedroom, to plump and smooth and fluff and carefully arrange her bed into the same cozy place to welcome her home to.

So, where does this irrepressible urge to baby my grown-up girl come from? At 18, Gracie is now a young woman. She is about to complete her SATs and heading off for college in the fall. She has a serious boyfriend, a car, and a circle of sensible, independent girlfriends. And there lies the rub. Her need for her mom is reducing every day as little by little, she moves away from me and toward adulthood that I have prepared her for.

I'll miss her when she's off to college

Of course, I am not completely naive to a teenager's well-honed arsenal of tactics to avoid household chores. I know my daughter has cultivated a handy weaponized helplessness to free her from any kind of domestic drudgery.

She places dirty dishes and cups BY but not IN the dishwasher, as if their very proximity to the machine means they will magically be washed and dried by some mysterious dark art. Her washing piles up hopefully in her laundry bin, as she knows it will reach such a teetering, accusatory pile that my OCD will succumb, and hey presto, it will be returned to her, cleaned and tumbled, dried and smelling faintly of maternal servitude.

The dog that she long campaigned for (" I'll walk it every day !" ) would have never seen sunshine if it were not for the rest of the family walking it. So, I know that my compulsive bed-making is helped along by her conveniently "forgetting" to do it.

Nevertheless, as the day that she will head off to college draws ever closer, I find myself squeezing in as many activities as possible with her in these last few precious months while she is still so easily available to me. Even if it's just driving to pick up a Starbucks and singing "The Sound of Music" at the tops of our voices, I appreciate every minute — and if that means us having a pajama and Netflix day in bed, then all the better that the bed is a perfectly made one.