Time is moving so fast it seems to be standing still. The days are long, suspended as if hung in a thick veil of fog. The weeks speed by in a supersonic blur.

I find the first three weeks with a newborn to be the most amazing. The immense awe found in the huge promise of future bundled in a baby’s tiny package is only equaled by the guilt of frustration from lack of sleep. I’ve been through these three weeks six times. The memory of each is clear, but with a complete lack of details. It’s like looking at a mosaic picture from 20 feet. The symphony of pictures are a clear image, but the individual pieces can barely be discerned.

She is two weeks old today. All at once she seems so new, and yet I can’t imagine a day without her.

20 years ago Sundays were for sleeping in trying to catch-up on lost sleep from adventures dug deep the previous night. These mornings are now more about coffee and naps between spats of sibling bickering. My nights with Beatrix are hardly loud. There’s no neon canyons to explore or big screens to visit. There’s just my racing heart and her sweet sighs. I soak in her gentle sounds and she cuddles to me for warmth. I do my best to keep her safe and she reminds me of everything important in this life.

20 years from now I’ll have memories of other late nights. There’ll be fever, fright, worries, boyfriends. She’ll be the one sleeping in on Sundays and I’ll be the one waiting for her to wake. But I hope she’ll spare a night now and then to be with me – to share her dreams, to peer into her future, to watch her grow.

It’s late tonight and I’m trying to paint a simple picture with a Technicolor palette.

History, shortly past or long ago retired, repeats itself silently. Amidst the din of white noise it’s easy to miss the steady beat. Yet here I am again, familiar surroundings – everything completely new. I’ve had late nights before, straining to make the midnight hour with my consciousness intact. I’ve changed diapers, worried about colds, and watched with wondrous awe.

Beatrix Violet was born 8 September with a frenzy of excitement and a swirl of sweetness. As much as my eyes are strained and my head is pounding from lack of sleep, my heart is swimming with love. Her tender sighs, so new, fill my soul with the music I’ve longed to hear for so long. She stretches and my heart skips with unbounded joy. A new baby girl.

As the high blue skies of Summer disappear and descend into the yellow haze of Autumn I’m forced back to my perch at the keyboard. It’s time to write once again.

I find myself mourning the loss of Summer this year. It sped by, leaving me on the curb to watch it race toward the horizon. I have no clever essay about what I did this Summer. Oh, I played. I worked. I got new toys. I cared for my garden, watched the little ones grow. But there was no single grand adventure. No week long trip to undiscovered territory. No week long vacation.

I’ve been saving it.

And now, as the date approaches, the anxiety grows. The short days creep by. The moments don’t move fast enough to keep me from considering the changes ahead. Our baby is coming…

We still have so much to do. Get clothes. Get blankets. A car seat. A Swing. Construct the crib. Find out the baby’s sex. Rooms need to be cleaned. Pictures hung. Repairs made. Schedules changed. Time and money run short and it makes me think of the days before our first little one.

I was so unready to be a parent, so unsure about the future and my place in it. But the invasion came like a German Blitzkrieg and I was drafted and put into combat before the fog could even think of clearing from my head. And here I am again facing a new front with anxiety and uncertainty – but this time I’m ready for it.

I wasn’t ready a week ago. I was steeped panic, wondering how I could keep up with a new baby when my already blur of a life leaves me dizzy and disoriented. But all changed when the three of us visited the hospital this week – my wife, my little one and me.

We didn’t plan the visit. Rather the little one made it necessary because he (or she) was being so mellow. I hadn’t planned to take the day off from work to soak in the sounds of the heart rate monitor and the smells of sanitizer and the frigid hospital air. But I guess our little one had other plans – wanted one moment of quiet with mom and dad before the coming storm of doctors and nurses turned intowild siblings and a crazed dog.

One moment of peace was all I needed to know I was ready. One moment was all I needed for the fog to clear and for my anxiety to melt away. And now the last Summer days can’t burn out quickly enough.

This is going to be a wonderful Fall.