Sunday, April 3, 2011

It's Not You, It's Me. Really.

In September 2008 the Mr. surprised me with a marriage proposal on a special mountain in northern Italy. His proposal was private, romantic, and included a simple ring with a slender white gold band caressing a small square setting that carefully hugs a small, perfect diamond. I loved it from the moment I saw it and I loved it even more when he told me it has once belonged to his grandmother. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect ring for my long, thin ring finger.

Months later, when the Mr. was choosing our wedding bands, he chose them specifically to match my ring. He carefully sorted through numerous styles that looked identical to me to ensure that he could happily wear his ring, his first ring ever, and that I could continue to wear my engagement ring each and every day, nestled above my wedding bands in typical American fashion.

And I have. When I’m nervous or stuck in traffic or bored in another too-long meeting, I tend to play with my rings, twirling them around and around my finger. Sometimes, even almost two years later, I look down at them with surprise, realizing with joy for the millionth time that I’m a married woman.

So, imagine my surprise when two nights ago I tried to remove both rings and was unable to do so. They were stuck. When I finally got my rings off, my finger actually started pulsating with blood. Since then I have been able to slip my slightly larger wedding band back on but I haven’t been able to get my engagement ring past the second knuckle. Instead it rests lonely but still beautiful on our bathroom counter. I assume that’s where it will stay until our little guy arrives.

Sorry, beloved ring, I know people say this all the time but this time it’s true. It really isn’t you. It really is me. Me and my little worm.



Courtney said...

oh! I remember this moment of my pregnancy, too! I bought silk cord so that I could wear my ring as a necklace for the last two months. For some reason related to my prego temperament, I NEEDED to have my wedding ring on while delivering--as if a band on a string was a talisman tethered to my ability to birth a child. So odd.

Pickles and Onions said...

And - did it work, your talisman?

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