My wedding ring is lost. Correction, my grandmother‘s wedding ring, which I have been wearing in lieu of having my own wedding ring for the past 8½ years, is lost.

I was slow to get out of bed this morning. Ed was getting ready for work, and I could hear the kids making a ruckus, but I was tired. I’ve been suffering from a little insomnia lately.

I was distracted last night before bed and left my rings on the bathroom counter, something I’m usually careful not to do because of Simon.

This morning, as I was wrestling with him to get his shoes on, Clare said, “Mommy! Here’s your ring!” My heart instantly sank. I remembered where I had left them.

It wasn’t the wedding ring. It was another ring I was wearing yesterday, and it was all covered in suspiciously Simon-like goo.

I have searched everywhere I can think of. No sign of the ring.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he ate it. I guess I’ll poke around in his diapers, just in case. Do I have to tell the nanny to dig through his poo?

Damn.

Advertisements