The Half of Pi

I dreaded that my first-born might be born on The Ides of March. Such an ominous, murderous day.

Perhaps this is why I pushed so hard on the eve of it.

And so, I delivered my Pi baby. Born on 3.14 (04)

You can do the math. If you like math.

Or, I'll just do the meaningful part of it for you here:

We have survived the first nine crying, messy, stinky, clingy, demanding, yet so beautiful years.
They are over. 

Pi has survived them. We have all survived them. Somewhat in tact. At least with all our limbs still attached.

There is a death to be acknowledged here. Those first nine years swallowed his childhood. Never to be repeated. Oh how I wish I could redo moments. So many moments. Some to relive the joy. Some to say things differently, to act differently, to show more patience, or to be more present. 

And so to honor this death, I will bury his blankie that he hasn't used in years (but couldn't sleep without for the first three), the forest of drawings of knights and monsters and two-legged heads, the mementos of cheap bracelets and plastic awards, of derby cars and lego creations, the teeth, the report cards, the first letters, then the first sentences, then the first of the real thoughts... 

I will bury these in a treasure chest. I hope we can sit down together years from now to sift through these random items. 

For pi explains the circle. And the circle implies a non-linear journey, one that recognizes a starting point. It offers a promise to return.

Alas.

We move on to the second half of his time under our roof. We brace for the next nine years to unfold.

We prepare for the battles.

I am not ready.

To hear the angst of confusion, and smell the stink of hormones.

To listen to doors slamming and witness confused tears.

To endure the horror of middle school and incur the expense of deodorant.

To wonder about the silences and feel the betrayal of loyalty.

To entertain snarky friends and share my child. 

At least during the first nine years, he was mine. No one else claimed his attention or company much.

It's a slow bandaid that tears off when your child ages.

Circle back to me, pi baby. I'm your biggest fan, always.