I’ll Just have to go to her Wedding

And if I go, I just know my chins will insist on sitting beside me. That baby weight I gained between 1997 and 2003 will interrupt “Excuse me. Excuse me. Is anyone sitting here?” And I will have to say “Go ahead.”

Addy is actually getting married. I knew she got engaged. I told y’all about that–Didn’t I? The ring is gorgeous and her George is a dreamboat. So sweet and understanding and handsome. I’m over the moon that they will be married. I just didn’t consider that there would actually be a wedding. With Covid and this global pandemic- I thought maybe they would elope or just be engaged for infinity. Well obviously, I wasn’t thinking clearly. She has a pinterest board for weddings. She texted me a photo of an unbelievable wedding dress.

George and Addy’s engagement picture

I know I sound like George in Father of the Bride (Steve Martin). I am picturing her about age six showing me the wedding gown on a Barbie doll. “Yes, it is beautiful.” I could say because that dress was meant for somewhere very far in the future like when I would be a senior citizen. I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m the mom. I should have seen this coming. I got married when I was her age, for heavens’ sake.

And this isn’t about me. Well, this blog post is. Selfishly about me. The mother of the bride. I come here to pour out my heart in this pocket diary that could be read by the public if they happened upon my little space in the world wide webs. Maybe if I tell you my tiny embarrassingly self-absorbed shameful truth, I won’t turn into Steve Martin in the grocery getting arrested over hot dog buns.

It seems like the wedding could be in summer or fall of this year. AND- The wedding being so close means that I will have to go. You readers are wondering what the hell is wrong with me and I am trying to explain. With the wedding so close, I will have to go. It will be the me version of I. Or the I version of me. This self. This little ole me. Martee. It seems unlikely that I would be help to cook up some future version of myself in the next few months. I’m just going to have to go as myself.

I won’t be the future Martee that was on Oprah speaking about my book tour.

I won’t be the future braided gray haired Martee enveloped in grandchildren.

I won’t be the Martee that discovered she does like running miles, silent meditation, and eating salad for breakfast.

I won’t bet the professional photographer that has pregnant clients on a waiting list or that coffee table book I’ve talked about for years.

Not even the homeowner who just re-finished her own hardwoods. (I live in a condo called “that little place” by one of my nephews. I watch HGTV about 10 hours a week and I don’t own a fucking home. What is that about?)

I can’t even conjure up the Martee who is over the affairs and betrayal. Or the Martee who doesn’t care when mother in laws comment on my weight or “ask about me” when they call my children once or twice a year.

I’m sooo unfinished. I’m more unfinished than the hardwood floors in a house I don’t own. The possibilities are endless- that is the good part of being unfinished. But I’m scared they won’t know that I am becoming. I am becoming so many things. I am not finished. I am growing and stretching and it hurts like all get out but I’m becoming. I can’t hide in my chrysalis because I’m the mother of the bride. I have to show up in this hairy, plumpy caterpillar state.

I am going to have the most expensive dress that I have ever owned. I will be a beautiful caterpillar. My dress will not be flattering or appropriate but artsy and flowy. And I will glow with the happiness of a mom knowing that her daughter has made it so far.

My shoes will be divine.

We can all say that we kept our children alive but she is different. I kept her alive for her first eight months. Inside my imagination, inside my body, in birth, and then breastfeeding her. And then I kept her alive from age 11 to more recently, I kept her alive. Day by day. Meal by meal. I fought her eating disorder and the monster in her. I fought so hard- until she could fight for herself. I will dance in her radiant beams of joy.

It will be me. I will be I. I can’t be anyone else. I will be the mother of the bride, the mother of my six children, the aunt, the friend, the daughter, the cousin, the ex-daughter in law, the ex-sister in law. The people I love will all be in one place. And it is a happy occasion. Such a happy occasion. I can’t believe it. My baby is getting married. The world is our oyster. The possibilities are endless.


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