My hands

I would like to call attention to several facts.

1) I have the thickest wrists known to womankind. They're thicker than My Man's.

2) My fingers are fairly pudgy, too, for which I blamed the fact that I could only ever play the piano fairly well.

3) I have nails. This should be absolutely extraordinary to anyone who has known me for more than five years. Growing up, I bit my nails til they bled. No white was allowed. I tried to quit when I got engaged, but to no avail. What FINALLY gave me the incentive to stop was Little Prince. I figured a mommy should probably drop such un-mommyish habits. It was hard. But I did it. (Although I still indulge when I'm stressed - particularly when I'm lost. In Sao Paulo.)

4) My nails are DONE. This is nothing short of hilarious to me. I've never considered myself much of a girly-girl. I wore jeans and T-shirts throughout high school and didn't learn how to put on makeup til college. The only eyeshadow I own I got as a present for my 12th birthday. I still have it.

But then I moved to Brazil.

Brazilian women define femininity. They are always done up and classy. They accessorize. (Something I totally stink at - although I'm trying to learn. It's amazing what a chic-y belt can do.) They have shoes for every outfit. They have EARRINGS for every outfit. (There was a time that I went for three years without earrings.) And Brazilians also do their nails. Every week. Even the poorest of the poor get their nails done - they truly consider it a neccessity, not a luxury. Some argue that it's even a health issue. My friends could not believe that the first and only time I had ever had my nails done was for my wedding.

I've had my nails done several times since I've been here - mostly by friends who do it for a living. The price? A mere R$5 - or about three bucks. Sweet, eh?

5) I am not wearing a wedding ring. This is just about the most tragic story in the world.

So when Jellybean was in the NICU, we couldn't wear jewelery, right? There was a "mommy's room" with lockers where we could put all of our stuff. I had my bag in there, and religiously put my wedding rings in the side pocket, in the locker.

On the eighth day in the hospital, we got the news that Jellybean could be released. We were so crazy-excited that we ran around trying to leave as soon as possible. My Man rushed out to check out of our hotel, and I reminded him to grab the stuff in the locker. However, that day I had decided to put my rings on the shelf - not in the bag. And My Man didn't see them. And I didn't think to tell him.

We didn't realize our mistake until the next day. Phone calls to the hospital proved that they had disappeared into some extremely lucky person's pocket.

I cried for an hour.

You know, I don't think I realized just how sentimentally attached I was to that little thing until it was gone. I have so many MEMORIES inherent to that ring. Everything to shyly discussing the possibilities, to picking it out on the sly, on the watch for snooping roommates, the anticipation while it was being made, the proposal itself (too sweet and perfect to discuss here ...), the wearing of it to My Man's family's Thankgiving party and the ensuing announcement, the staring and mooning over it for the next few months, the addition of the wedding band (the best present I ever received!) ... right down to paying it off. It was my wedding ring. I wanted to wear it forever. I just assumed I'd be buried in it. And now it's gone.

I am totally and utterly devastated.

Of course My Man told me that now I'm going to get a really sweet Christmas present. But I don't WANT a new one. I want THAT one. And I don't want an identical one. That would be .... blasphemy, somehow.

I am sad.