Oh, this kid.
Today Jackson is six months old. He's changed so much; it's hard to remember back to when he was this kid:
I remember wondering in those first couple of weeks how I was going to make it to six months. Six months was a far-off oasis--the promise of rest and a simpler life where I wouldn't constantly be worried about keeping this fragile newborn alive. Sometimes when things were tough, I divided the year into chunks: "We've made it one month--we just have to do that eleven more times and he'll be a year old!"
And now we're halfway there and I wonder where the time has gone. I now know that I'm always going to worry about him, only now instead of jaundice and his developing immune system I worry about all the ways he can get hurt interacting with the world around him. (He's not crawling yet but between scooting backward and running around in his walker, he finds all kinds of trouble to get into!) But the worry feels different now. When I take a minute to sit back and reflect on God's faithfulness to us, I am reminded that he's in good hands. Jackson's survival is not exclusively up to us. That's a big load off.
It's a good thing, too, because as we're discovering who JT is, it's become obvious that we're going to have our hands full.
Speaking of full hands, he just woke up. The Sunday rush has begun. But I had to say, "HAPPY POINT FIVE, JT!"