There are so many things that people don’t tell you about moving your kid to college.

Make no mistake that there are a plethora of things people DO tell you. Many are true and spot-on. Others, not so much.

But what about that whole host of things that people fail to mention? Little details such as, for instance:

You will have to call the moving truck rental company 87 times and wait on hold for about three days to find out, yes, it’s fine to drop it off wherever. Oh, BTW, that’s AFTER you pay the $89 for the little $40 unit — before taxes and insurance, natch.

They should put caution tape around your whole house for a full month prior to move-in day, because, let’s face it, it’s pretty much like the Amityville Horror homestead in there.

For starters, your cherub of a child morphs from the bundle of joy you brought home from the hospital 18 years ago into somebody else’s baby. As in, Rosemary’s, capisce?

He / she will begin speaking to you with forked tongue. For example, you may offer some helpful hints, like packing an extra pillow or some spare blankets or slipping extra socks into the old duffle bag. His / her response will be to spew split pea soup into your face as his / her head spins wildly in circles on his / her neck, all the while assuring you that you are, in fact, the single stupidest human to ever walk the face of God’s earth. Hormones plus nerves = ouch.

Then there’s your husband, aka Mr. Yuck — he’s mean and all about the green. READ: he’s counting every penny you spend relocating your not-so-wee-one into that very expensive new home of his / hers.

Here’s a hint: The next time you want to ask your wife if we really NEED to buy a (FILL IN THE BLANK), the answer is yes, yes we do. Next question? P.S. It BETTER not be about moola, you dig?

You yourself become the title character from the film “Split.” Suddenly, you have like 17 different personalities: the weeper (the one is constantly crying); the paranoid maniac (the one who is completely irrational about the 18,439 scenarios that could put your college freshman in harm’s way); the imp (the one who is so overcome with emotion that she’s very much like a lost toddler standing in the middle of Grand Central Station at rush hour); etc.

No one warns you of the three years’ worth of crud you must remove from a pair of black patent leather shoes in the 45 seconds before you pull out of the driveway. Or that you’ll have to go retrieve last winter’s physical form from the high school athletic office … which is, of course, still closed.

And that you’ll have to go to Walmart 497 times a day for three solid weeks.

Or that, in any given moment, the sound of an ice cream truck will make you feel like you’re going to die or puke or puke and then die.

Or that you will leave the hand sanitizer, contact lens solution and floss at home. And that you have to start Walmarting all over again.

Or that you finally WILL get that kid’s stuff off the family room chair … and the dining room table … and the stairs.

And that you will hate your newly clean and quiet house so much that you want to move. Tomorrow. Or later this afternoon.

Preferably into a dorm room next to you-know-who.

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who is barely breathing just now. Check to see if she’s still kicking at www.patriciakimerer.com.