What a momentous occasion this feels like.
The build up begins the year before, with orientation, meeting "buddy's", buying oversize, unnatural feeling uniforms, and preparatory talks with your child on how the day pans out at big school - how you can't just go to the toilet willy nilly and bare your bottom to the playground when you wee, like you do at Kindy.
Then there's the build up for mum. Talk of Tea and Tears commiserations after the first drop off. Picturing your little teeny weeny person, drowning in his huge enormous uniform, like a sea turtle wobbling about under his bag. Thinking about how he'll cope left on his own in the playground, swallowed by the mass of kids who know what to do.
Will he take in everything the teacher says - will he miss something important he's supposed to do or know? How will he cope with all that sitting in one spot and concentrating on learning things which are so foreign to him - writing, reading, maths? Please God don't let it be too hot in the un-air conditioned classroom, he'll flag before 9am!
Finally, it's pick up time. I'm there 20 minutes early. Waiting. Wondering. Watching the closed door.
Then it opens. Out come 25 umbrella-like navy sunhats all squashed in a group together. Which one is he?!!!
A break-away hat comes toward me and there is it - a grown up, 'I can do this school stuff'-swagger, and one helluva huge smile.
I've never felt so proud in all my life.