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A boring checkup

We're so far removed from last October's blur of NICU visits that it's hard to believe how difficult it was. Long gone are those days of gently holding a tiny 4 lb-something preemie who couldn't eat, we could barely dress her she was so delicate, and you had to hold her just so to prevent her heart rate from dropping. She'd stop breathing and the alarms would ring.

Now, she obsessively pursues air conditioner cords, the dog, and food she isn't possibly old enough to eat. She claps and crawls and falls down hard before sitting back up without so much as a cry. We knew all along she was a tough girl.

Yesterday's doctor appointment was notable for what it lacked...mainly, any bit of concern on the part of anyone. The main hiccup was the receptionist writing our time down wrong on the appointment card so that we arrived 30 minutes before any doctor. She may be a little on the small side still--17 pounds, 6 oz which is 25th percentile--but we've ditched the meds she was on, she's hitting all her developmental milestones and then some. Right on schedule to move to milk at one year. She knows her name, babbles, is working on teeth and words and the whole thing.

I never worry about her. She just smiles and laughs and plays hard. For all that trouble she gave us coming into the world, she certainly has a way of evening all that out. They stabbed her twice. Once for a blood test and once for a vaccine. The blood test she didn't even flinch. She whimpered a little for the shot. But then it was over. She played with the tongue depressor and laughed like the doctor was ridiculous.

Completely normal. Which is fabulous.

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