One month until The Wedding.
I’m as excited to marry Cris as I am terrified to be a bride. The white dress, the millions of eyes watching your every move, the pressure for everything to be the most perfectest ever. It’s the stuff of nightmares for my awkward introverted self. There is a nonzero chance that halfway down the aisle, I will freak out and try to hide behind some bushes, hyperventilating. And there is a near 100% chance that, at some point in the evening, I will: 1. fall flat on my face, 2. spill salsa down the front of my dress, and 3. flash someone while trying to figure out how to deal with a strapless dress.
Our wedding guests are in for a show, is what I’m saying.
I wanted a short and sweet city hall ceremony, but it was important to Cris to have all of our favorite people with us. I totally get it, and I think it’s sweet, and I’m certain I’ll be so happy we did it once everything is said and done. But right now I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and pukey about the whole thing. Not in a bad way necessarily. Just in a…pukey way.
Talking about how nervous your wedding makes you isn’t a cool thing to do, I’ve learned. People misunderstand, assume you’re nervous about being married, think you’re being a twee, ridiculous little thing. It’s okay. Sublimating these tiny moments of blind panic is really the best thing to do. I’m trying to focus my attention on the rest of the wedding details that still need to be planned. Small, concrete tasks that don’t involve dwelling on how people will be STARING AT ME. WITH THEIR JUDGEY EYES. JUDGING ME. Centerpieces and cakes and sequins are a safer place for my mind to be.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.