...the rosey? The collar? A more applicable answer would be my finger. As I try to pry my wedding band off my swollen and relentless 4th appendage on my left hand on a daily basis, I try to talk myself out of an all-out tear fest...not unlike the one I had when I de-railed this past weekend at Continental Diamond, www.continentaldiamond.com(shameless plug for the most amazing jewelry store in the Twin Cities). Mike and I went there to get our rings cleaned and what is normally a wonderful experience (complete with flattering lighting and Otis Spunkmeyer cookies to nosh on while we wait) turned out to be anything but.
Although I was successful in removing my engagment ring my wedding band wasn't so cooperative. My eyes welled up with tears and my hands started to shake as I realized that I was not able to get the ring to move up even close to my knuckle. Our jeweler, Laurel, at Continental Diamond (shameless plug #2) was already on the defense and tackled my emotional breakdown head-on by complimenting my hair, my skin, telling me my pregnancy looks so great, etc. It was a great diversion for a few moments. Love you Laurel :)
We quickly realized that the ring was not coming off. She kindly advised me NOT to put my engagement ring back until after the pregnancy. Just great...so the big sparkly diamond ring I love so much is forced into sabbatical...just great.
Olive oil. Ice. Windex. Lotion. Jedi mind-tricks. I've tried it all.
Understanding that water retention is a normal part of pregnancy; the embracing hug my ring has on my finger will only get tighter and tighter and I can tell you one thing...I do NOT want any type of saw or cutting tool near my fingers.
I will continue this combat against my mockingly swollen finger until this GD ring comes off. Well at least only in the mornings when I'm least swollen, after I've dipped my finger in ice cold water for 30 minutes, sprayed it down with Windex and held it above my heart. Anything short of attaching it to a big rig and ordering it to be thrown into reverse.
Mike and I just went on a "babymoon" in the Dominican Republic last week; a way to take a break from the following:
1. frigid, bone-dry weather here in MN
(still not sure how we sustain life here)
2. looming list of to-dos for the upcoming baby
3. dreadful monotony that creeps its way under
our skin around this time of year
We immediately immersed ourselves in the culture of our 5-Star Luxruy All-Inclusive private resort in Punta Cana; where the locals dressed like hotel bellmen and professional massage therapists. We found it interesting they all had the same common vision for their village and wore tags on their matching clothing (much like uniforms) that had their names on them; including a denotation that they were in fact from the same blood line of Barcelo. Mike and I, two Gringos from the North, were welcomed with open arms and served a cocktail with pineapple slices. I thought that was a nice touch. :)
It was very apparent to most, save for some of the bright-bulbed Canadian tourists, that I was pregnant and that it would be a solid gesture to offer up any assistance as needed or even allow Mike and I to jump to the front of lines. And there were a LOT of lines...line to check-in, line to eat at the buffets, line to make reservations for dinners, and a line at the bar. I can tell you one thing; waiting in line at the bar for a Batido de Fruta is not a walk in the park. All I want is a friggin banana smoothie con leche!
And calming down...where was I? Oh yes, so because of my obvious 'condition' Mike and I enjoyed a lot of line jumping on our "babymoon" because I guess the general public (again, except for some Canadians) all agree that a pregnant woman should be taken care of first. It's a very empowering feeling, I can tell you that, and I welcomed it every chance it was presented to us. We were able to get a table at a restaurant that was completely full with reservations because of Baby Alec (thank you to the hostesss at La Dolce Vita by the way) and we were pulled to the VERY front of the line to check-in at the airport on our trip back home. Unfortunately Baby Alec couldn't swing complimentary upgrades to first-class for his parents but we thought what the heck and bought them anyway and flew home in style. I can tell you one thing; I don't think there is one person who would argue with a pregnant lady over habitual line jumping. Except that one Canadian...whose Maple Leaf tattoo served as a target for my fist.
First thought to cross my mind; get thee to Pea in the Pod and steal the artificial belly bump used in the dressing rooms for future privileges after Alec arrives. Oh and pray for Canada...for their people know not what they do.