Half.

Thursday morning I scooped up little man in one arm, tossed a “just in case” diaper in my bag, and walked out the door. I opened the door with one hand and bumped open the outer door with my hip, turning around to lock the door before loading the babe into his car seat. Minutes later, we were on the way to the doctor for his 6 month checkup. We were early.

I checked in and grabbed the buzzer from the receptionist. We barely sat down and started flipping through Parents magazine in the waiting room {me trying to read sage parental wisdom, Kabes attempting to eat the flapping pages} when we were called back. I fairly easily laid him on the scale, then held his head against the board as the nurse stretched his stubborn legs to measure his height. None of it phased him.

As we sat in the puppy dog room waiting for the doctor, he stood on the sill staring out the window, wiping his slobbery hands all over the somewhat clean glass. When the scenes outside the doctor’s office bored him, he sat in my lap playing with his links. By playing, I mean utterly delighting in dropping them repeatedly on the floor.

I was running out of tricks to entertain the little bug; the doctor needed to hurry up.

As we sat there waiting I couldn’t help but think back to this same scene six months ago. Same scene; same setting; entirely different scenario. Six months ago the husband and I started getting ready for his 1^st doctor’s visit at least 45 minutes early. We strategically planned what time to get up in order to have the peanut fed, changed, and loaded up in the car with enough time to make the 2 ½ minute drive to the pediatrician.

I spent a good 15 minutes packing the diaper bag: 3, no 4, diapers. An extra outfit. Make that two. A blanket. Wipes. Vaseline. Hand sanitizer. Another outfit. One more diaper. Do they have diapers at the doctor’s office? Is he warm enough? Will the doctor judge the outfit I put him in? I stopped worrying and I scooped tiny K up in both arms, bundled in a too-big sleeper and knit hat, and enveloped in no less than two baby blankets.

I stood at the door waiting for the husband to open it and let us walk through. I stood again at the car waiting for him to let us in. I didn’t dare move a hand from my precious package. At least 10 minutes later our fragile cargo was safely buckled in his car seat and ready for his first post-hospital adventure.

I was convinced I’d drop him or hurt him as I set him down on the hard, cold, unforgiving plastic of the scale. I just knew everyone was watching my every move: look at that awkward new mom, she has no idea what she’s doing!

In the examining room, I lay our 5 day old baby on the harsh, crinkly paper of the patient table, keeping both of my arms by his side, leaning over him every second until the doctor came in. I still didn’t move my hand from his tiny naked body the whole time we were there.

My how things change. Our baby is less baby and more boy. As parents we’re less awkward and more confident. Our questions are more focused and less first-time-mom-ish. Less crying; more smiles. Less sleeping; more playing.

We knew when we got pregnant that we’d be in for some struggles. What we didn’t know was how much those smiles, coos, and laughs would get us through.

I swear those things will get me through anything. We’ve never been challenged so much, or rewarded so greatly. We’ve never been so tired or so uninhibitedly happy.

Half a year.

I can’t imagine what that 12 month appointment will be like. I have a feeling I better have my running shoes on.