Today I left you and I took the dogs and I walked.  And somehow over the course of the sleepless, endless nights, the leaves have turned yellow and fall is on its way.  You are two weeks old tomorrow and the change of season snuck by both of us without notice.  It is a nice time of year to be born, I think.  You came in the full heat of the summer and your arrival prompted the transition into hues of gold and red and yellow.  And now, whenever fall arrives, I will think of this time with you.  You are so small and so dependent and have brought so much joy.

Now that the massive waves of hormonal surges have passed, I can think more logically and rationally.  I'm not certain this is a good thing, however.  In the midst of my plummeting hormones and utter exhaustion I think I may have been closer to truth than I am in my more rested, more sane mind.  It is only on the edge of madness that I am my most honest, I think.  Otherwise, I am using coping mechanisms and fronts to hide the rawness of emotion.  The emotion that holy shit you came and you changed everything and it is so, so good but so, so terrifying.

People tried to prepare me for this in so many ways.  They told me things would be forever different. They offered interpretations of the extreme toll being a new mom takes on the body.  The most honest folks talked about the vulnerability and the fear.  But being arrogant as I am, assuming that somehow I would fare better, I didn't particularly listen.  So now, when I awake with you at two am and I am as strung out as I have ever been, I smile a bit at my arrogance and my assumption that somehow it was easier than folks warned.

You arrived at a temperamental time of year.  Right now, there is thunder and a tremendous pouring rain.  Just yesterday it was 90 degrees.  I cannot wait until you are big enough and the temperature is stable enough to take you out for runs and walks; I cannot wait to drag you up mountains and across country to see what there is to see.  There is simply so much to see and life is so short.  I cannot wait for you to see it all, every last inch.

I am still trying to come to terms with loving you.