I’m getting married in the morning. No really, I am.
I’ve managed to
hoodwink persuade a real-life, actual man to promise to spend the rest of his life with me. I know, I can’t believe it either.
The man in question isn’t in the house this evening. He’s been turfed out into a nearby hotel, along with about ten million family members from all corners of the country. They’re all in separate rooms though, obviously.
As a result, today has been one of pampering and nice-smelling things. While my aunt and uncle entertained Frog for the day, I had my hairy toes seen to, my face polished and my finger nails neatened, all in a room that smelt of flowers. I then came home to find my wedding dress laid out on my bed for me, along with a card from my mum.
It was at that point that I cried. My mum made my dress, see. And the card contained a photograph of her holding me as a baby. *sob* (Needless to say, when I rang her sobbing, she told me to get a grip.)
After spending the evening cuddling my daughter, eating pizza with my bridesmaids and opening the first flurry of cards, I finally feel like a bride. It’s finally sunk in that I’m getting married in the morning. OH MY GOD I’M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING!
And I don’t feel nervous. I don’t feel sick. I just feel the little butterflies start to flap their wings in my stomach, as I imagine the day ahead and seeing the NLM waiting at the end of that long walk for me, ready to put a ring on my finger.
It’s the night before the rest of my life – and I can’t bloody wait.