I’m getting married on Saturday. I. am. getting. married. Actually, that’s not the bit that scares me. I can’t wait to be married. I just am a teensy, weensy, little bit scared about the whole, you know, wedding thing. The whole, high-and-uncomfortable-shoes-combined-with-being-the-clumsiest person on earth thing. The whole, having to dance in front of everyone I know in said shoes, despite a monumental lack of dancing skills thing (but, oh, the shoes are beautiful, though. Would be be inappropriate of me to want to marry the shoes?).
It’s not panning out to be the bestest of weeks, this week-before-the-wedding-week. For a start, we are housebound due to pavement conditions I can only describe as Strictly Come Falling On Your Arse (isn’t that right, binmen?). Being housebound could be OK, of course. It could be cosy, staying in your PJs, drinking hot chocolate, watching Christmas Loose Women and Jeremy Christmas Kyle. I could do that version of being housebound. Unfortunately that TV Movie version of housebound-ness does not feature a bored 2 year old, hell bent on rejection of christmas crafts in favour of running around the house, screaming and doing every thing mummy says not to do. This is not the week-before-the-wedding-week I ordered! Shouldn’t I be in the spa, having my feet nibbled by tiny fish or something? Instead I’m having my patience – in short supply at the best of times – nibbled by a tiny person.
Also, sleeping. Not happening. Last night I lay awake for hours, working out a route from Victoria to Greenwich that didn’t involve going on the underground, for my tube-phobic mum. Once I had thought of one, I spent half an hour panicking that I was going to forget it, so off I trooped downstairs at about 2am to get the train times and send myself an email, reminding me to text mum in the morning. And don’t even get me started on the stairlift we need/don’t need/who knows and my cousin’s tomato allergy.
Of course, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is that lovely face waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Yeah, that registrar is pretty hot. No not really, you know who I mean. My man, who inexplicably puts up with me, despite the fact that I am utterly ridiculous, vain, moody, constantly dissatisfied, bossy and pernickety. My man who I love more than anyone, with the exception of our beautiful daughter, and that’s different. My man who gave me said beautiful daughter. I don’t think I care if I do fall over down the aisle, so long as I skid to the end and say my vows from the floor. That’s all I want, really. I love you, Ant xx