Tuesday, January 24, 2012


I can't wear my wedding ring any more.

I was fairly certain that this day would arrive sooner than later and I turned out to be right.  I can still wear the engagement ring, but even it is not long for my left hand, I fear.

It's not a big deal and I know that it's temporary, but I was much more sad about it than I thought I would be.

I love my rings.  I look at them every day and think about my husband and my marriage and our home and our life together.  They're a constant corner-of-my-eye reminder of how lucky I am to have what I have.

I know that they are just "things," and that in the grand scheme of things, they don't matter.  I know that if we had no material symbols of our marriage at all, we would still be happy and committed to each other.  I know all these things.

But I miss my ring.

But then, eventually, I feel a might boot to the side of my abdomen and I'm reminded why it is that the rings will be in a box on my dresser and not on my hand.

And that's a pretty nifty thing.

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