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Last night I got smacked in the face yet again by the fact that my sweet baby boy is a grown-up, an adult, a man.

It's a bittersweet feeling.

My son is a police officer. (Listen, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that.) He called the other night to tell us he was taking an Intoximeter training class at the state police facility for the week. Since this is reasonably close to home, I told him to get himself home to see us.

Alas, his partner had the cruiser that night, so he had no transportation. I suggested we go out for dinner the following night, our treat. Now the words "our treat" normally work like magic, but not this time. He allowed as how he was sorry, but he really had to study for the final test.

Let me repeat that: He really had to study for the test. Not he had a party to go to, but he had to study.

For. The. Test.

Honestly, I never thought I'd hear those words out of his mouth. In high school, it was always, "Don't worry, Mom. I don't need to study." In college, it was always, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll pull an all nighter."

Now? "No time for dinner; I must study."

Then he delivered the coup de grace.

"Guess what?" he said. "I got pre-approved for a mortgage. I'm looking at condos."

Yep. I'm the mother of a grown-up. When did that happen?