I have sort of become the person I really tried not to become. I am suddenly "that girl" that needs to talk about her wedding on a daily basis. On Monday morning (Monday, people, barely awake on the worst day), my mom thought it would be fun to discuss how I was going to get to the wedding site from my or her house - wherever we end up getting ready. Um, the wedding? Is months away. I doubt I need to figure that out now.
Yesterday it was talk about my hair and make up. Over the weekend I got a call saying my dress was in. The gal that works at the bridal store was PUMPED! I mean, you could literally feel the excitement pulsating through my cell phone. I, on the other hand, was quite distracted by the new bras I had purchased and basically spent after a morning of registering for bridal gifts so I couldn't reciprocate the same sort of energy.
I have my first fitting in my very own wedding dress tomorrow night. Apparently, this is a pivotal moment that my mother, grandmother and sister-in-law are overly enthusiastic about participating in with me. I, on the other hand, can only hope I'm home in time to watch some Must See TV on NBC. I suppose I would be a lot more excited if I had actually lost some weight between the last time I tried on the dress in the store and now. But I haven't. And I doubt I will. I worry that my mother will regret dropping a ton of money on a dress that will be ill-fitting on her overly curvaceous daughter. I worry that I won't be the vision of beauty that will make my husband-to-be weep at the altar. I worry that even though I'm ok with the way I look, the camera won't be kind. Worry. Worry. Worry.
MORAL OF THAT STORY: If you can't be the one you love, love the one you are.