For seven precious seconds, Judah Morley Ragland had the stage to himself.

That's how often a child is born each day in the U.S. – every seven seconds –according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

But for parents-to-be, time stands still as the obstetrician skillfully extricates a newborn from a mother's womb.

It certainly did for me this week when my wife, Shannon, gave birth to our newest edition, Judah Morley.

A few tears streamed down my cheeks as Shannon clutched my left paw and the doctor allowed me to nip the umbilical cord with scissors eased into my right hand.

Yes, I was nervous. (And that was before I calculated college tuition costs in 2026!)

I had the same overwhelming sensation when my first child, Alexander James, arrived in 1989, and again when Selah Lilingrace was born two autumns ago.

There simply is nothing more wondrously nerve-racking and awe-inspiring than childbirth.

No matter how commonplace it seems to those outside that delivery room, anxious Moms and Dads clustered inside realize with each "push, push" that they're about to witness a miracle.

This is how blessed we were: Moments after Judah arrived, the doctor held up the umbilical cord, the lifeline that connected him to his mom.

It was loosely tied. In a knot!

Before we could get carried away with fretful thoughts of what might have been, our doctor calmly told us that Judah had done a little back flip (or something to that effect) when he was but a few weeks old.

Note to self: Make plans for 2024 Olympics in gymnastics.

Anyway, the work of art that Judah created didn't block the blood flowing through the umbilical cord, thank goodness.

My exhausted wife and I mumbled in unison that we were relieved that it didn't end up around his tiny neck.

Believe it or not, little complications like that happen every day. And most of the time, the baby turns out fine.

A part of me – the part that was in a mental fog – allowed as to how neat it might be to keep the cord: Maybe we should frame it. Maybe we shouldn't have even cut it.

Thanks for keeping it real, Joan.

But seriously, having gone through this a couple of times before, I can tell you that initial year goes by in a blink.

Doesn't seem that way at first. Not when you're tripping over the dogs in the middle of the night, searching for a dry diaper or a pacifier.

Then one day, you wake up, and that powder-sweet newborn is 2, fighting you for the remote and bossing you around the house.

It gets better. In no time, if you're lucky, that child will be calling you from a college dorm room – most likely to request more funds, but, occasionally, just to say, "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I love you."

And when that happens, you'll all but forget that on the day that your child was born, 12,342 other babies arrived.

Your mind will race back to that wonderful, momentous day in the delivery room, when you shed that first tear of joy.

"Life is a flame that is always burning itself out," playwright George Bernard Shaw observed, "but it catches fire again every time a child is born."