Navigating Your Child’s First Day at Big School
The first smile, first step, or the first time your child calls out to you in a tiny voice are all milestones that will make you gasp. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, can prepare you for that moment when you walk your child into the school gates on their first day at “Big School.”
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You’ve probably been anticipating this day for many years, sometimes with excitement and other times with dread. You mentally checked off each stage of development: your child has outgrown their nappies, faced toddler tantrums, and graduated from daycare. Now you’re on the cusp of a new chapter. Not only is your child’s formal education beginning, but a new rhythm in the family’s life begins. A new rhythm of life. You’re letting go of each other in a small but meaningful way.
7 Stages Every Parent Faces on Day One
This is a breakdown of the seven stages that most parents go through on their first unforgettable day.
The Moment It Gets Real
The first morning feels strange.
You have been planning for several weeks or even months. The uniform, complete with name tags ironed on, is waiting for you. The new school shoes have been worn around the house and tried on. Lunch, snacks, water bottles, and a comfort item have been carefully packed into the backpack.
Your child seems to be a lot happier than you expected. As she squeezes into her too-big uniform, her small frame is dwarfed by her oversized bag. She talks about the playground, her teacher, and whether or not anyone else has a Paw Patrol Lunchbox.
You’re caught up in an emotional wave as she is bubbling over with excitement.
Even though you knew this day would come, your heart still sees the baby with chubby cheeks in a onesie that needed help to sit up. Here she is dressed as a schoolgirl with a new sense of curiosity and independence.
You blink rapidly to stop the tears. You tell yourself. Today, we celebrate her – her courage, her joy, and her first steps into the world.
But still…Â waaaah.
Take 10,000 Photos to Immortalise the Moment
You were not warned about the intensity of this need to record your child’s day. You turn into a paparazzi, chasing after your child, first around the front yard and then down the driveway to the school gate, while shouting, “Just another!” No, no — just smile again. “Let’s do it with your bag on!”
The camera roll is transformed into a photo essay entitled “My baby’s first day”, with approximately 273 variations of that same pose — uniforms, bags, hats, and those innocent eyes, looking directly at you.
Even though her hat is three sizes too large and her sleeves are almost hanging beyond her fingertips, you marvel at her adorable appearance. Still, it’s perfect. She’s perfect.
This snapping is more than a way to preserve memories — it’s also a way to cope. A distraction. This is a small attempt to freeze time and hold on to this moment for a few more seconds before it changes.
You glance at the clock and say what every parent says on the first (and subsequent) day of school: “Hurry, we’re late!”
Keep it Together and Try to Keep Cool.
You’re met by a rush of families trying to do the same thing as you: not panic.
The playground is a blur of uniforms and nervous chatter. Teachers are trying to calm a sea of overwhelmed parents and children. You scan the crowd to find her teacher, a warm smile, and kind eyes with a clipboard. You feel a sigh of relief.
You’re holding on to your child tightly. She doesn’t know when she should let go. You tell her that she’s brave and how proud you are. While your heart is beating like a hammer, you try to be calm and confident.
You can see the line of children forming – neatly arranged in rows with backpacks bulging at the seams with large lunch boxes and drinks bottles. You gently guide her to the front of the line, and then release her hand. She smiles nervously at you.
Your emotions are whirling around inside.
It is the dawn of a new age. You can sense it. It’s a sadness that is quiet and aching.
You can take a breath for the moment. Keep your cool. Be calm and collected in the face of a storm.
So Many Feelings, So Many Tears
Finally, the moment has arrived.
The teacher leads the children in, one by one. Your child gives a little wave and then disappears behind the closed door.
When it hits, you’ll know.
All of the emotions that you have been repressing — pride, anxiety, overwhelming love — rush to the surface. Your eyes sting. You feel your throat tighten.
The tears start to flow. You cry.
You’re not crying out loud (at least, not yet), but you’re enough to reach for your tissues and wipe your cheeks in the most discreet way possible. Other parents around you are also doing the same. Some parents are crying out loud. Some are openly weeping.
Some parents make their way to the “tea with tissues” session, hosted by the primary school. This is a kind and thoughtful tradition that many schools provide in order to help ease the stress of this moment. If only to enjoy a good cup of tea and a friendly smile, you might consider joining them.
Missing My Little Shadow
It is difficult to describe the feeling of disorientation that comes with walking away from your child’s school.
You’re not sure what to do. On the one hand, you feel a strange sense of freedom. You don’t have to negotiate over the muffin when you go to a café. You can drive without listening to the soundtrack of Bluey. You have no hands. Silence is… strange.
Your heart is heavy, but you don’t feel that way. You may not be worried, but the weight of change is weighing on you. You already miss her. You’re sitting in a place that is usually crowded with people — questions, complaints, and giggles. Now it’s quiet.
You start your day feeling a strange combination of relief and sadness. You answer some emails and maybe even start a wash. Everything feels… off. It’s like your rhythm has a missing beat.
Thinking of Her Every Minute
You’ve probably checked the time twelve times by mid-morning. By lunchtime, the number is closer to fifty.
Imagine her struggling to open her lunchbox and looking around at the area. You hope that she knows where the toilets and other facilities are. You wonder if the girl has made any friends. Does she eat enough? She is feeling brave. Is she missing you?
You resist the temptation to call to confirm that all is well. You can send her positive, invisible thoughts instead.
You’re not being irrational — you’re being mum. Love in its purest form looks like this. From a distance, we worry, hope, imagine, and love.
You’re almost out the door when the clock finally ticks down to pickup time. You do not want to be late.
Reunited, and It Feels So Good
You see her.
You lock your gaze on her as the children rush out of the class at hometime. She looks at you, and her face is lit up with a smile that wipes away every doubt, tear, and anxious thought.
The world is back to normal when she runs up and opens her arms wide.
It’s like a part of you has returned as her tiny hand wraps around yours. You exhale deeply. She did it. She made it.
She is full of stories about her teacher and the classroom. About the friend she made. You listen, absorbed, taking in every word, even though half of what she says doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t matter. She’s happy.
She falls asleep soundly that night, tired from her eventful day. While you are still feeling emotional, you feel a sense of calm. You’ve survived the first day. You will have many more days — each one is a little easier.
You’ll never forget it.
You are not Alone
You’re not alone if you cry. You are not alone if you feel lost, your heart hurts, or you spend the day counting down the minutes.
As the days pass, you will settle into your new routine. Your child will grow in ways you’ll be amazed at. She will become more confident, curious, and independent.
You’ll never forget the first time she let go of your arm at the school gates — or how it felt when you took it back.
So go ahead. You can cry if necessary. You should also celebrate. Celebrate too.
Tomorrow? And tomorrow?
