For our five-year-anniversary, my husband wanted to get me a ring (because I wanted a ring). We were two Canadians who had met in Brooklyn. Brooklyn was more than a place to us, it was another part of our story, the backdrop of those exciting years of being young and in love. So the Clay Pot was our immediate first choice—established, and quintessentially Brooklyn while also being eclectic and interesting, where I could find a ring that was as unique as our love story.
My son was just about to turn two and the last few years had been the most beautiful and the most difficult of my life. We were broke and in debt because I had had to quit my job that didn't offer maternity leave. Along with the pure joy of new motherhood came a cruel bout of postpartum depression and then the pain of returning to work too soon and putting our tiny new baby in day care that was almost as expensive as our mortgage payments. I wanted a tangible symbol that would represent how far we had traveled in the past years and grown together as a couple, but that also would incorporate this new, magical disruption and gift in our lives.
A tall order.
After much deliberation, I found a thin, white gold band with three small diamonds in the center that I fell in love with. Past, present, future. Me, my husband, and my son. I couldn't have conjured anything more apt and beautiful. Also, it was something we could afford. That is something I've always loved about the Clay Pot—beautiful things can be for everyone at every price point.
Five years later, we have a little boy in our life, not a baby anymore. My ring still fits me and I never take it off. I've gained and lost weight since that day, and my ring just rolls with it. Some days it slides easily around my finger and some days it looks a bit stuck. A little like me. But every day it is beautiful and it reminds me of family, and of love.
Thank you, Clay Pot, for something simple, perfect, and timeless that I will cherish for the rest of my life, and pass on, along with all of these stories.