Frances Found My Wedding Ring

Every day Frances finds new things. A week ago it was that she could put her feet in her mouth. Yesterday it was keys: tasty, tasty metal keys. Today it was my wedding ring.

I told her the first thing that came to mind: “That’s mama’s wedding ring. That means that your mamas are stickin’ together with you, and that there’s a ton of love where you came from.”

Not that our parents were married when we came into the world. And not that any of our life before her will mean anything to her. I think about what I know about my parents before me, and there’s just a great big sea of  “Well, that doesn’t really matter, anyhow.”

But I do want her to feel like there’s a huge landmass of love in this world for her, no matter what. And I feel like us being married would somehow, in some small representational way, demonstrate that in terms that are traded in reality, in familiar words and actions. 

It’s more than “We really wanted you,” or “We loved each other a lot and wanted to share more love.” It’s that we felt we could handle bringing up a little one with each other’s support (Amazing!), and that we believed that the world could refrain from holding it against you (Come on, world, you can do it!). It’s that we thought the world was a great enough place to bother coming into it, and the minute we met you we knew we were right.  

Your mamas believe in the power of love, little Frances. Enough to host an open bar for over a hundred people and ask them not to wear jeans. That’s how much.

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