Why You Should ALWAYS Wear Your Ring . . .

Thanksgiving Point is holding the annual Tulip festival through this weekend. 55 acres of beautifully landscaped gardens, most of which are still attempting to shake winter off their terrain. The wind was fierce on Saturday, which drove us into the clubhouse in order to feed the twins. I went to the festival with my parents and my three kids. Obviously the twins get quite a bit of attention, and wearing thier skull baby legs caused a stir. One older lady came up to me as I am burping Jack, and she asks the golden question:
"Are they TWINS?"
I'm always amazed that people still ask that. It's like asking, "Is it snowing?" during a storm, or "Are you a Mom?" to a woman laden with baby gear.
"Yes! A Boy and a Girl." I always oblige.
She wondered at their sizes and her cuteness of hair, and paused on Jack, who I am still burping. Her gaze lingered without comment, and then she said this:
"You always remember that these babies are YOU. They are beautiful and healthy and happy and it is all owed to YOU."
"Thank you! That is so nice to say." I replied sincerely.
"Those dang men and daddies don't do a dang thing anyways. It's all you!" She said abruptly, resolutely.
I thought she was joking.
"Ha! Ha! You're dang right!" I laughed back.
She gave me a quick smile and left the clubhouse.
At this point I realized WHY her gaze lingered on Jack for moment. It wasn't Jack. It was my NAKED ring finger. I haven't been able to wear my ring for, uh, add pre-pregnancy bloat to nine months of severe illness, one bad bout of edema and permanent knuckle size change, that makes 432,599 days.
I always assumed my toting around three kids, two of which newborn twins would suffice as to declaring marital status. I guess not.
Michael's gonna LOVE this blog.