We've been anticipating this for months now, and the day finally came -- Eldest began school. OK, it was just 3-year-old preschool, but it was at a real school (the Catholic school near us), and it was his first day. I thought I'd be melancholy than I was, more than anything, I was proud that this day had come. We all walked to school together, the teacher invited the kids into the class, we met some of the parents, went to breakfast with Littlest, and eventually walked back over and picked Eldest up.
He had fun, and is looking forward to his second day tomorrow. There are 11 girls and four boys in his class, but he mostly gets along with everybody, though I hope he becomes good friends with the boys, not because I don't want him playing with girls, but he needs the rough-and-tumble play time other boys mostly provide. We picked him up on the playground, where the class ends their day with recess, and he was having a blast and didn't want to go (we offered to buy him a donut and he left). Any of my worries or fears about Eldest starting school melted away, and it was comforting to know other parents worried about how well their kids would hit the toilet on their own (we put a Pull-up on Eldest just in case, we can't get out of him whether he used the potty or not).
His teacher was telling the parents how each kid did, mostly saying they did well, but when she came to us, she got specific: Eldest was great at following directions. He won't do that for us often, but we signed up for that, it's more important to us he listens to other adults.
And he did this first day. And I couldn't be more proud.