What’s Love Got to Do With It?

It’s been two years since I’ve worn my engagement and wedding bands, and that’s not a reflection of the stability I have in my marriage.

I am happily married to my spouse and very much in love with him. I also adore my rings and am proud of the story they tell, both smooth, rounded, and bright. I stand by the union that they represent.

I don’t wear them anymore because they don’t fit. They did on the night we conceived our second son, and they did for a few days after he was made, too. But they haven’t since.

My body swelled in the making of him. Above and beyond what an 11 pound little life could be held responsible for. My stomach, of course, ballooned and when I was carrying my baby this made for quite the story; good conversation with everyone speculating as to his sex and size. Sadly, it remains ballooned but is now deflated. Truth is, it’s not the only part of me that remains stretched, oversized.

Some of the choices I made while pregnant were not conducive to self care, and it wasn’t just my tummy that grew. My legs lost their definition, my arms found wider form, my face lost some edges and my fingers–well, they got thick.

I took the rings off just days after implantation, but I was okay with that: taking up a bit more space while making room for another child was not hard to reconcile. I even kept perspective about my enormous weight gain throughout those 40 weeks. It wasn’t that I thought it was acceptable or healthy but I just rode it out and wasn’t (overly) self critical. 

As my body grew, our marriage continued to blossom, our eldest matured, our little baby-being evolved, and, upon his birth our family expanded to whole.  The swell of it: ripe in love.

It took a number of months for us to adjust and find some grace in our new normal as a family of four but we were successful. My body, however, did not transition as readily.

I tried. I resumed running and my breath and sweat told many, many pounds ‘goodbye.’ I made significant headway, and once I thought that I might have rid myself of enough excess that I could wear my wedding vows again. They got on all right, but they had to be cut off.

I had them fixed for Christmas: a little gift to me. I even made some allowances and had some extra gold put in, a half size more to accommodate what I still had left hanging on.

I couldn’t wear them at Christmas as I’d planned. And, despite making a New Year’s resolution to make time for my health and fitness, they are still too tight. I made many a lifestyle change in January in effort to reflect my goal and my value, but I didn’t shake the weight.

At present, I can only get one on, but my finger, constricted, threatens me with another embarrassing emergency where I have to have them sawed and clawed off in what feels like a public shaming.

I can do better for me.

This Valentine’s day, it’s about that. It’s not going to be a celebration about my guy and I and, despite the priority they hold in my life, it will also not be a love-fest for them, the children our love made.

This year, it’s about me. It’s about loving me. It’s about caring about myself enough to make my health, my fitness, and my weight, a calendar worthy item. It’s about carving out the time. It’s about a focussed commitment.

My rings are waiting. They have been tucked away, back in the closet, abandoned until the final pounds have been lost and I have been found.