Jewels of Giza

oh, how the pyramid, does grow and grow. how was i to know? i signed that dotted line, in repose. should have dotted i’s and crossed my legs. my first hint arrived with labor pains. i squatted jewels – diamond, ruby, emerald. wore expert rings with the likes of dr. spock. i devoured each sweet honey book. but woe to me, i thought i’d suffer solely from “empty nest”. those birds flew high and strong, then crooked and lopsided. i wracked my brain, contemplated walking the plank. sleepwalking, i found profundity, a book of eureka gold. apparently, there are experts in rearing “adult children”. i furiously speed read, all the pages. i scanned its horizon for clues and answers. they came with blue sky ribbons. i slid to the floor, bewildered, wide-eyed, relieved. then my children became experts, in rearing their own. taught me how to use my adult voice - unlike a duck, no squeaking allowed. and how i should let them cry, and let them fall. who’d ever heard such crazy talk? i’d still sign that dotted line, but with eyes open wide. my husband and i reside at the precipice of the pyramid. it quakes with birth pangs of shattered glass. still, our family’s strong. none will crumble. none will fall.