It’s really difficult to describe what it was like to send #thetoby off on the bus for his first day of kindergarten. Terrifying. Nerve-wracking. Full of pride.

I know, parents do this every fall. And buses and schools are expert at hosting and directing these tiny lost creatures that are new kindergarteners. But this was MY KID. And that’s a whole other ballgame.

Toby definitely had questions about school. They ranged from the extremely valid (What do I do with my backpack on the bus?) to the totally random (Will they have toilet paper in the bathroom?). He had one total freakout meltdown last week when he ended up dissolved in tears saying he was worried about making new friends and he didn’t want to leave Pooh Corner (his daycare). Totally valid. I actually expected a few more of those as the first day of school approached, but little man kept his cool and was pretty chill about it all.

Toby was super thrilled to be able to bring his lunch to school, and he made very sure I knew he wants “his sandwich” EVERY DAY. “Every day forever, mom.” That sandwich, the one he asks for every weekend? A peanut butter/honey/Swiss cheese/salami combination. I cannot explain the genesis of this creation, but it’s been his go-to sandwich for a while now, to my horror.

Yes, that’s not two sandwiches, it’s one. Salami and peanut butter. Swiss cheese and honey. All four mushed together between multi-grain bread. Toby has been very annoyed that at Pooh Corner they made him eat Mac and cheese for lunch when he just craves salami/cheese/peanut butter/honey every day. Who’da thought? The major bonus of this sandwich is that I can pretty much guarantee no other kid will want to trade Toby for it. That one’s all his.

On the first day of school, he ate a full size (two slices of bread) of “his” sandwich and most of the vegetables I sent, leaving only left a few cucumbers and carrots. “It wasn’t that I wasn’t going to eat them—I ran out of time,” he told me. Typical. He eats like a stoned sloth—tragically hungry but just not moving fast.

We had to go stand in the driveway 25 minutes before the bus was due. He was THAT excited to ride the bus. “They really don’t have seatbelts?” he asked in wonder. When she pulled up, he marched right up the stairs without a bit of hesitation. The driver had to tell him to turn around and wave to us. At this point, my heart felt like hamburger. My little creature was fully prepared to board that bus without a backward glance. I was forcing myself to not follow him right up those stairs and hug him one more time. As they pulled away, I sobbed. It was like I was waving goodbye to my little baby for the last time, since that offspring on the yellow projectile hurtling its way north was now showing definite signs of self-sufficiency.

I just could not imagine my kid navigating his way from the bus to the classroom ALL BY HIMSELF (yeah, yeah, they have adult supervision, but it wasn’t me!). I was worried that he would let shyness take over and not participate. I felt enormously better when one of the teacher’s aides from the school (who had been the infant room head teacher at Toby’s daycare when he was an infant) commented on an Instagram post that she’d seen him in the hall smiling and looking happy. Whew. Nothing like a little spying on your kid.

When the time came for Toby’s bus to return and drop him off, the sound of a diesel engine coming down the road had me sprinting across the front yard. So when John turned in the driveway in his work truck, he had a fleeting moment when he thought I was so glad to see him that I was running to him in joy. I quickly disabused him of that notion and resumed my bus vigil.

But all the worry was for naught—Toby came home and played it super-cool. “Yeah, it was good.”

Well, he wasn’t super cool right away. When that creature came down the bus stairs, the best I can describe the look on his face is shell-shocked. He had a thousand-yard stare. It was obvious he’d been a bit overloaded. Then came the revelation that explained it: “Mom, those people just didn’t let me nap. They didn’t even let us rest a little bit.”

Toby is his father’s son—John requires about 10-12 hours of sleep a day in order to be at all functional, and I fear Toby takes after this quirk more than my “oh look, I got 5 hours last night!” proclivities. So a day of new adventures with zero chance to snooze? Asking a bit much of #thetoby. I’m worried what’s going to happen after a week of no-naps!

When the thousand-yard stare faded, the stories started. The explanation of the sign language they need to use when asking to go to the bathroom or to talk. The stories about the books they read and the “rules” they learned. And on and on. Bottom line is that he had a great time. The bus was definitely the highlight (“It was bouncy!”). But he enjoyed  the whole day and is eager to go back. Whew.

I might stop crying when the bus picks him up by the end of the week.