So it's likely Brodie will spend 2470 days in school.
One down, 2469 to go B Boy.
We've been building up to this day for, let's see, about 5 and a half years? It seems like such a big step. From small boy to school boy. From teeny, tiny newborn babe to this.
Of course he's still exactly the same boy. Still my boy, yet somehow things will never quite be the same.
I laid out his school uniform this morning. The carefully chosen, washed, labelled bits and pieces. I helped Brodie put it on and when Greig came into see him I saw the lump in my husband's throat and quickly rushed away to take a long shower and wiped away the tears which came.
And then we did it. We took the boy to school. And he was so excited I though he might burst. He took the nerves he was feeling and he let them fizz out in exuberance. He was dying to get in and get started and see what it was all about.
This boy who is by nature cautious and sensitive took it all on one cool, calm, collected leap.
My overwhelming feeling was relief. I'm so relieved that he handled this all so well. And massive amounts of motherly pride. Buckets and buckets. My boy, the rock star.
So I left my heart in a cosy and colourful classroom and pretended to get on with normal life for a few hours all the while holding my breath in case he needed me. Only of course, he didn't. He's got this.
We picked him up and got some sparse details about what happened. There was no going back over old ground, school was finished for that day.
I'm aware we have a long way to go (see above) but we made a good start today. Did I mention I'm proud? I know I can't keep bad things from happening, hurt feelings from smarting, bad days from unfolding. But I can do everything I can think of to prepare my children to face the world with the confidence that I will always, always be there. That they can soar high and far and wide.