It may be an understatement to say that dropping your pride and joy off on their first day of school isn’t easy. “Will the teacher treat them well? Are they ready? Am I ready?!”

Your mind is probably racing. But find relief in the fact that most of the parents around you are having the same thoughts. Can you relate to any on this list?

It seems like only yesterday she was naked and screaming. Wait — that was yesterday. Please let her keep her clothes on at school.

I can’t have a 5-year-old. I’m young and hip. Do people still say hip? I’ll ask someone wearing bellbottoms.

That dad looks like he’s 16. Did he have his kid when he was 11? If anyone asks if my child is my grandchild, I’ll complain the whole way back to the nursing home.

I don’t have attachment issues. I just want to be with her a moment longer before she starts school and graduates college and only visits at Christmas. Can I ground her now for being a bad daughter in the future?

All schools start out smelling like new carpet, fresh paint, and fear. Unless that’s not the school. Maybe I should’ve worn more deodorant.

I held three days of interviews to hire my kid’s first babysitter, and she only watched my daughter while I walked to the mailbox. If this strange woman I’ve never seen before thinks she can just waltz in here and take charge of my daughter’s life for the next 180 days, well, I guess she’s right.

After talking to her a bit, she comes off as polite, fun, and extremely smart. There were no red flags whatsoever. Of course, that’s exactly what a psychopath would want me to think.

Wow, the marker board in here is also an interactive computer. When I was in school, the teacher wrote with chalk, and to get it she had to fight a pterodactyl.

This thing is like 40 pages long. It’s kindergarten, not a space shuttle. I’ll figure it out as I go along.

Why did I throw away that stupid handbook?

Look at my daughter, sitting there at a desk. Just like I do at work. Wait, I know where this road leads. Don’t be like me, girl. Get out while you still can.

That boy over there is twice my kid’s size. Did he get held back in preschool? Like, multiple times? Or maybe he just ate his vegetables. Wait, does he have a mustache?

If she’s a step behind the other kids, she won’t get into a good college, and she’ll end up homeless under a bridge. Then she can never host Thanksgiving dinner and I’ll be forced to have it at my house every year. I hate doing dishes.

I didn’t have time to teach her the social nuances of — oh, she made nine friends before I finished that sentence. Maybe I should take lessons from her.

She’s growing up too fast. I better lay down some firm dating rules right now. Rule 1: Don’t. That should cover it.

I spent hours selecting the perfect outfit to help her fit in while still being unique. She promptly ignored it and wore a T-shirt with dinosaurs instead.

At no point during the walk from the car to the school did she encounter a single blade of grass. Her ability to ruin clothes is supernatural. Maybe I should enroll her at Hogwarts.