I’ve learned a big lesson recently. It’s one I should have known before, the amount of times people have said “I told you so”.
Get married before you have kids.
It’s not because of tradition. It’s not because of God. And it’s certainly not because of some kind of pre-marriage vow of celibacy.
(Not that I’m against any of those reasons of course, before you throw your hands in the air and accuse me of being anti-God and tradition and celibacy. I’m not. It’s just not the way I roll.)
The real reason people get married before they have kids is because everyone knows planning a wedding while negotiating the daily challenges of first-time motherhood is not a pleasant experience. Add returning to work to the mix and the stress levels go up a notch. Add the fear of a wobbly post-baby tummy threatening to spill out of the wedding dress and we reach levels of near explosion.
This is why people get married before they have kids.
In less than two months, I’m going to become the Mrs (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. Less than two months. That’s like, six weeks or something. There’s a very big difference between three months and two months. And there’s a very big difference between two months and six weeks. Soon it’ll be just one month. But I don’t know if I’ll make it that long.
I’ve done pretty well so far at appearing as a zen-like bride. I’ve avoided any bridezilla tendencies and remained calm about the impending day. All the big things are sorted. Like the venue, food, cake. There’s just the little thing of my wedding dress still to finalise. Oh and those little favours I had an idea about when I was planning my “dream” wedding before the NLM had even proposed. Oh yes, and the rings. Shoes. Table plans. Orders of ceremony. Music. Did I mention the dress?
As I said, zen-like bride.
The thing is, if I didn’t have a little person hanging off my hip at any given opportunity I’d be on top of all this by now. I’d have spent every spare minute Googling “perfect weddings” and have absolutely no doubt I’d have become the bridezilla to beat all bridezillas. It’s funny how having a baby and working leaves little time for anything else.
In the pre-Frog days, I’d spend many a happy few minutes dreamily browsing the internet, noting what wedding dresses I liked. If anyone I knew went to a wedding I’d be straight at the photos on Facebook checking out those individual touches, planning what I could steal for my own wedding. I was a bridezilla before I was even a bride.
And then I had a baby. And handed in my notice. And decided to set myself up as a freelance journalist.
In case you haven’t guessed it yet, working 13 hour days and attempting some semblance of “good motherhood” really get in the way of planning a wedding.
So here we are. Less than two months from becoming the Mrs (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and yet another ball I’m juggling is becoming just a little too heavy.
Oh well. I’ll just have to drink lots of wine at the hen do this weekend and forget about it.