What else is new?


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Lately it seems the moon is doing something new every other night: A blood moon, a super moon, an eclipse. A super-blood-moon-eclipse.
I look up at the stars with a new fascination these days. The other night I was squinting through the nursery blinds with the lights out to see what the moon was going to do next. I had my baby on the changing table, naked and drying between diapers, when I heard the patter of liquid on the aluminum wastebasket in the corner. I turned to see a moonlit rainbow reflecting across the room in an impressive arch.

The cosmos are indeed new again and suddenly everything on earth sparkles fresh as well. When you have a baby, the world resets. We can do everything over again. Every photo we’ve taken up to now is obsolete.

Baby is holding his head up on his own now, unsteady but up, so we can go places and let him have a look around. Last year he wasn’t born yet and cared nothing for Halloween, but this year we got to place him among the Venetucci patch and lean in with him for selfies as he inspected the pumpkins.

I can hold him in the air with the Garden of the Gods in the photo’s background now, making it look like he’s riding one side of the Kissing Camels. Or I can set up with the Rockies in the distance and have him sidesaddle Pikes Peak.

We need to redo every fall event.

There should’ve been a prize for finding and photographing the littlest Waldo among the runners at America the Beautiful Park. I should’ve signed the boy and myself up for the Emma Crawford Coffin Races. It would have been a sure victory, a motion-blurred snapshot of us crossing the finish line. But they would’ve disqualified us for having a driver under the weight limit.

Soon I will introduce him to every piece of the Springs, historic and new, pointing them out to him with as much enthusiasm in my eyes as he has in his. And I can do it over and over and count on his fresh reaction each time. His memory is not long yet.

It’s nothing but new discoveries for the bobble-headed boy, and rediscoveries for the dad carrying him. It’s my job to keep him excited and learning.

This year I went as my dad for Halloween and will do the same every day for the rest of my life. It would be nice if one day my son said that with the same smile on his face.

Pico spent his childhood years in the Springs. Now, as a father, he's seeing the city (and life) in a different light. Follow him on twitter at @DavidXPico.

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