I don't know who's more nervous

Well, actually I lie. I'm more nervous. I'm as a nervous as a nervous thing on annual nervous day.
Today at 1.30 I will stroll with my son into his big primary one classroom for the first time and introduce him to the teacher who will guide him through his first year at big school.
He'll be asked to draw a picture and write his name. He's not particularly good at writing his name - his writing is hugely big and the s is always backwards and the e looks a little mental so I'll be mentally weighing up his ability in comparison to the other kids in his class. And I know for a fact that little F from his nursery is going there too and her writing is amazing (seriously, I think she must get extra lessons)...
But of course what I should be doing is reminding myself he is FOUR - and a young four at that. He can read all his letters and numbers. He can read small words, recognise names of all his classmates and count really well. He can even do basic math. He is obsessed with books, and trains and cars. He can identify the make of a car at 50 yards. He is articulate, sensitive, loving, dramatic and hilariously funny. He is a great dancer, a brilliant wee cyclist and loves to sing. He has a remarkable imagination.
And yet here I am, nutty mum, obsessing about a backwards s. It's as if that backwards s symbolises to the entire world that I am a BAD MUM. And of course, I'm a working mum. (Even though F's mummy is also a working mum - we do that working mum's smile of solidarity at the school gates every morning).
So am I afraid of the teacher judging Joseph or the teacher judging me - I think probably the latter