Like many blog posts of the past, this post is motivated by frustration.
Those of you who are regular followers are probably thinking, "Oh, dear. Mother-in-law problems again."
No, not really.
I'm not picking on everyone here. The vast majority of my friends and family have been very understanding through all of this impromptu planning. But whenever I talk about my wedding plans, I often find myself defending them. And there is this small percentage of people in my life who...
...Are offended that they didn't get invited. I think it's really interesting that they are offended because, frankly, only one set of my grandparents got invited. In fact, I only invited one of my cousins. Moreover, there are only 18 guests that are just guests. The photographer and officiant certainly cannot be uninvited. My parents should probably be there, as well as my fiancee's parents. And our four grandparents really can't be uninvited, either. And my cousin and her fiancee? Yeah, they should be there. I can't very well dictate what friends my fiancee invites.
I suppose I could uninvite my dear friend and former roommate. The one that went to the clinic with me when I found out I was pregnant, and gave me so much emotional support, and lead the way to my actually getting excited about having a child. The friend that helped me realize that just being myself can be awesome. Yes, I will uninvite that friend and invite you instead, because we took an art class together once. (gr!)
...Insist that I'll regret not having bought a traditional wedding dress. You know, I was flipping through wedding photos yesterday and I had this momentary lapse where I thought I might actually want a traditional wedding dress.
And then I remembered that it's August, and it's hot, and the dress would probably be strapless, and I'd have to wear a strapless bra, and let me tell you, my strapless bra has those rubber skin-gripper seams and even just a few hours of wear leaves my skin red and raw, and then I would be sweating because the dress would be thick, and sweat tends to collect in uncomfortable places, like under my breasts and between my thighs, so I would be uncomfortable and sweaty and in pain with lovely red gouges across my torso for the wedding night. Yeah, that sounds great.
...Promise to get me drunk and bring lots of phallic items at my bachelorette party. Okay. Here are the facts as I see them. The bachelorette party is the night before the wedding. I have been drunk before and know exactly what will happen: I will want to cuddle with the closest person on the couch and will probably fall asleep before 11. I don't know what the promised inebriation's purpose is, perhaps an emergence of Samantha's "wild side," but that is not what would happen. Cuddle. Sleep. Hangover. And believe it or not, I do not want to be hung over on the morning of my wedding. Funny thing.
Now here's the thing with all of the penis-shaped items. Most people know that I have a child, and in order for that child to have gotten here, I should already be familiar with the male anatomy. The concept of sex is not new to me. So leave the suckers, the balloons and the crown of genitalia in your car please. This party is occurring because I want to have fun with my friends and decorate cupcakes. If you're attending in order to celebrate my ability to have sex, you are a year and a half too late.
So that's my rant and a half on wedding things. Like I said, it's not everyone, but it's enough to warrant a blog post.
You should know that at this very moment, my (apparently dreaming) fiancee is scolding someone in Mandarin.
I woke him up and asked what he was dreaming. Some pesky kids had opened our window and were messing with him. He said it was a "get off my lawn" dream.