July 7, 2003.

That's the day everything changed forever for K and me. At 1:35 in the afternoon that day, after 26 hours of laboring at our house and here at the hospital, Reid was born, healthy, screaming, beautiful.

He shocked critics who predicted he would be an overpowering brute by weighing in at a trim seven pounds and two ounces. His height came in at just under 20 inches -- call it 19 & 3/4. Hardy the mega-baby feared by my wife after irresponsibly projecting after learning that the person typing these words weighed nine and a quarter pounds at birth nearly 30 years ago.

What is unexpected about this? How could anything be unexpected in this day and age, you may wonder, with classes, books, binders and the useless advice of countless millions all contributing to our preparation?

Simply everything. It doesn't matter what you know, or what you expect, my friends, because nothing jumps the preparation line at your personal amusement park like a newborn baby bearing 50% of your genetic code. Indeed, this child has forced a massive reorganization of priorities not previously anticipated. I'm shaving my face to comfortably hold my chin close to his little head. I'm driving differently in anticipation of having this little man as a passenger.

But more importantly, I'm seeing everything differently. I don't just see this boy, and I don't just see this boy's future. I see a massive multigenerational scheme. I see the excesses of the present drifting away into the calamities of his future. I see the littlest child, sitting genteely in the lap of my wife, fighting these battles, struggling against the same nightmares, besting the same challengers.

He's the one for us. He, like his generation, are what will be the decisive factors. His future is the one we're both fighting for and fighting to ensure that the battle will be worth winning. He is the new center of my universe, and his totally unknowing grin is like the most amazing beam of light from a new sun. I swear to god, this kid is incredible.

If people care to see pictures from the first 72 hours of Reid's life, click here