I am getting ready to attend my baby’s wedding.
The first question one receives as the mother of the groom is, “Do you like his fiancé?”
When the first question is asked, I light up like a Christmas bubble light from the seventies. You cannot get me to stop talking about how wonderful my dotter-in-law to be is. She’s creative and silly and kinder than necessary and real and, like me, she speaks in many accents & languages – even though the only one we really know is English. She makes my son so very happy and I love her. Tearing up just thinking about how much I love both of them. I could bubble on and on but I will contain myself.
The second most important question is, of course, “What will you wear?”
Then the second question comes out of nowhere faster than you can say, “But I haven’t even lost the baby weight yet.” I mean, it’s only been 21 years since he was born. I mumble. I stumble. I sweat more than someone wrestling with skinny jeans on a humid 110° day in Pennsylvania.
I was once a banker girl who wore dresses, nylons, & high heels to work six days a week and, since that wasn’t enough, to church again on Sundays. Now, yoga pants are the meat and potatoes of my daily attire. They work well when meat and potatoes are the meat and potatoes of your diet.
Dotter was kind enough to gently coax (forcibly push) me back into a shopping dressing room. I can’t remember the last time I was in one for my own sake. It was a tough love moment. She won. And we both survived. After two shopping trips and about seven stores, Dotter asked, “Mom, so are you saying yes to the dress?” We cheered for a few minutes and then she confronted me about my eyebrows. I tried to tell her even though I might not be entirely pleased with the results when I pluck my own eyebrows, at least I look like I am. She said, “Make an appointment.” I can tell this is going to be like the time my kids took me hiking and kept promising we were almost done. We had only just begun.
Next stop, Spanx. If you ever consider telling others you are considering Spanx, don’t. Stuff it in. You will get the same reaction as when you announce you are pregnant. You get advice. You get horror stories. You get a lot of “good luck”s. You get scared.
I imagine things will turn out similar to my high school graduation where the audience thought I was singing off tune because I was crying; while, actually, I was crying because I was off tune.
I will, indeed, be emotional seeing my baby get married; but, I might actually be in a straight up panic because, well, Spanx.
Inside I’ll be bubbling over and at the same time just trying to contain myself.