Letting Go

I rarely feel like an adult. I act like one because I know I'm the age where I have to (people my age who can't manage that are a source of constant irritation), but I can't say I ever really feel like one.

Like most people of my generation I suffer from being overly privileged. I'm well aware of how well my life has gone up to this point, regardless of whether or not I've deserved it. I didn't have to pay for college. I lucked into a happy marriage with a man who always astounds me with his love, compassion, and patience. I had just one frustrating season of job hunting before I landed in my career of choice. When others my age are starting to lose grandparents, parents even, I have yet to lose a person close to me. I got pregnant so easily that, with just a week and half left, I'm still kind of waiting for something to go horribly wrong. It's silly that I ever complain about anything. Everything is going well, and I'll always feel a little ridiculous sharing this story. Some will roll their eyes, and rightly so, because maybe they've been through so much more. But maybe others will understand, or at least understand that this is the worst thing I've been through in an admittedly easy life.

I'd noticed that she was losing weight. She was always on the bigger side. Vets always urged us to make her lose a pound or two. Suddenly I could feel her bones under her fur, fur that was oddly limp and thin when it use to be soft and thick. I pushed it away for a few weeks. Then there was finally a moment, when I was holding her, crying because I was hand feeding her, begging her to nourish herself, that I knew an adult moment was coming. I was going to lose her, and it would be soon.

I'm not a pet person really. Some people have the need to have animals in the house all the time, and usually more than one. For me it was never about that. I was satisfied with just her, my constant companion of sixteen years, when few other things were constant. Houses, roommates, friends, and boyfriends changed, but there was always the two of us. She hadn't been a pet for a long time.

One day I quietly told my husband that I should make her an appointment over my winter break. I knew what I would hear, and I knew I couldn't handle it and also work. I was setting myself up for a thoroughly depressing Christmas, but at least I could grieve in total privacy.

I wept all the way to that appointment. I failed in hiding my tears in the waiting room. A tech who's always adored her tried to comfort me, tell me that she would get better soon, but I knew better. Neither a person nor an animal goes from being perfectly healthy to a skeleton in just a month or two. She was so thin that I'd been able to feel her kidneys the day before the appointment. Maybe it was my growing maternal instincts, but I knew I would not be wrong. They took us to the examination room and I just cried. I couldn't stop. Before examining her the vet tried to be hopeful as well, assured me that it could be something treatable, like diabetes. My husband asked her to do a full body examination first before we did any extensive testing. I could see it in her face when the examination was done.

It happens like it does in the movies. You hear that it's a tumor. You hear the word "inoperable." You hear that on the slim chance that it is something else, she's not likely to survive the surgery. She's already lost nearly two-thirds of her body weight. She sits there calmly as the vets pets her. It seems like she knew.

Assured by the vet that she's not in pain, we decide to return after Christmas. On the way home I cry and cry and cry.

Even then I felt foolish. How spoiled I am, that at twenty-five I can still cry over a cat like she's a person.

I held her for a while when we got home. She rested on top of my growing belly, the closest she would ever be to my son, her head on my shoulder. Not at all normal behavior for her. She knew, and I realized she'd been waiting for me to know too. Over the next four days, the days she had left, she grew drastically worse. It was like she was finally able to accept it and prepare herself. She took to a pile of laundry in the kitchen and would rarely move from there. She stopped using the stairs. Stopped spending the night with us. Stopped making it to her litter box on time. She helped me see that we were doing the right thing for her, but it's a miserable moment. The moment when you realize that you're making your first really adult decision, the one where you decide that it's someone's time to die.

The day before we took her I was up early, restless. I sat on the couch watching TV, in my usual place. I was surprised to see her inch from her spot in the kitchen and make her way to me. She hopped up next to me, the way she'd always done, and we had our last morning together that was just like all the others. We watched the Dr. Who Christmas special. I cried because he regenerated, and because it was so fitting to what was coming.

I'd asked Tim to make the appointment as early as possible. I couldn't spend the day of anticipating it. So we took her back at 8am. That morning she ate solid food for the first time in days, and actually approached us to be fed. I immediately thought we were making a mistake again. Really I knew that this was typical of the last moments of both people and animals, and that it is often God's way of giving them a final reprieve from their suffering.

All the same, I make Tim ask the vet to check her again to be sure. Of course, it's still there, still starving her to death, and we are saving her great pain in the near future. They give her a shot of anesthesia, and for a second she's herself again, sharply turning her head toward them and meowing with indignation that anyone would dare give her a shot. It's her last fiery moment, a return to herself after so much weakness. Then they leave us alone with her. I pick her up and cry, and my husband holds us both. She's alert for a few more seconds before she falls asleep, but I hold her and hold that moment. She's teaching me how to let go, a lesson I've been lucky enough to avoid before this moment. It should have happened a long time ago, but it didn't, and it's now, and I cry because I'm nine again, and I'm holding her on the way home from the shelter, and I want to be back at that moment, with sixteen more impossible years. 

Finally I know she sleeps, and I ask him to go let the vet know. The vet comes in, and reminds me that I don't have to stay for this next part. The vet says that she doesn't know who is here and who isn't, but I know I could never leave her now, when everyone should have somebody with them. There is a consent form, and I sign it. I could make my husband do it, but I know that it should be me. So I hold onto her while she's given the shot. I feel her breathing slow, then stop. The vet tells us when she is gone. It was truly peaceful. It's surreal to me how like herself she looks-- that just seconds before she had been inside herself and now she isn't. 

The vet leaves again to give us time. I kiss her and just stare for a long time, tears quietly falling. Then I hear him start to go and I remember that he's suffering too. When other people cry I immediately stop crying. It's always been that way. My instinct to soothe kicks in and I hold him, and let him cry. He apologizes and I know that he feels guilty, that he wanted to be the comforter, not the comforted. Of course I don't care. I'm just touched that he loved her so much in such a short time.

The vet comes back and I babble about how I got her for my ninth birthday, that my dad wishes so much that he could be there. They were always second-closest next to her and I. The vet hugs us both and says that she can tell Sassy was always loved. After they remove her we go home, and we immediately begin to remove her litter box, bowls, brushes. I don't think I can handle it otherwise. Then we go back to bed, emotionally exhausted, but hopeful and a little relieved as well. The burden of the moment is gone at least, and now we will recover.

They called me a couple of weeks later when her ashes were ready. I went alone-- bad choice. I'd done really well over the weeks and didn't think I would have a problem. The receptionist looked pained for me when I whispered why I was there (whispered because I didn't want to upset the kids who were very happy with their dog a few feet away). She brought me a nice paper bag with a lovely pine box inside. I couldn't help but start to tear up a little. I was surprised at how beautifully they'd prepared her, and how compassionately both she and I had been treated. No one at the clinic was desensitized because this happens around them all the time. My cat was special and loved, they understood that, and they were genuinely sorry for me. It really does say something about how wonderful people can be.

On the way home I cried again. I cried and I couldn't stop. I haven't cried about it since then. Life is busy, and busy is a blessing. In a rare moment that I talked about it, someone asked me when I'd get another pet. They'd recently lost a pet and are getting another shortly. That really hit home for me that I'm not a pet person. I don't need an animal in the house. It was never about her being an animal. It was about me being a child and going through most of my life with that very special kind of companionship, the kind that stems from the intense love that a child can invest. I don't have a child's love to invest anymore. I had it for her because we'd established it long ago. We were well into the comfortable "old couple" phase, where sitting next to each other was enough for both of us. I will never have a pet again. One day, our son will ask us for a pet, and we'll say yes. But that pet will be his, and he will invest a child's love and grow with that pet (a dog, I'm assuming), just like I did. I will certainly love that animal, but I will love watching it be a faithful companion to my son more. And when I see them together, I'll remember my own faithful companion, and our fully lived life together.

The Day We Met Daniel

Before Tim and I were married, let alone talking kids, I felt in my soul that my first child would be a boy. I fell in love with Tim's baby pictures and imagined having a little boy just like him. One day, also pre-marriage and pre-attempting, we were talking about what we'd name our kids. One of us mentioned Daniel, and immediately we looked at each other and knew that would be our son's name. He became such a vivid and tangible entity in my mind that I knew he would be in our lives some day.

When I actually got pregnant, I had NO instincts as to what (meaning who) was in there. Toward gender day we were actually thinking girl just because we were so convinced of boy pre-pregnancy, but really we had no clue. Three days before our appointment I had a dream that it was a boy, and the next night I dreamed that it was a girl, so really my mother's intuition must be rubbish.

The baby usually starts his squirming and kicking at nighttime. The day we were going to find out gender, he moved ALL DAY. We joked that he must have known that we were going to see him and was really excited.

My anatomy scan was scheduled for 3pm on Monday, October 21. My clinic always gets me in for my appointments promptly; within 5 minutes of my scheduled time. That day, we waited in the front for over 30 minutes past our scheduled time. I remember both of us tapping our feet and fidgeting with impatience. The lady at the front desk apologized a couple of times, so we didn't feel like we'd been forgotten, but I was starting to get hungry. They gave me some crackers and went ahead and let me use the bathroom (you have to every time). Finally, they came for us, and I practically sprinted inside, dragging Tim behind me.

The ultrasound tech apologized. Apparently the previous baby hadn't been very cooperative, and to be honest if I were that mom I would have been upset if they'd cut it off at 30 minutes and made me come back (which happens at other clinics), so I get why we had to wait. I was bouncy in my seat while she got our DVD ready and asked if we wanted to know the gender. We said yes, and when she asked if we had any guesses we said that we had absolutely no idea. She talked us through all the things we would get to see, and what she was looking for in terms of growth and health of the baby.

As she started it became clear that gender would be the last thing. Of course that made me crazy! But really it was so cool to see every little piece of him (not that we knew it was a "him" yet, it's just weird to say "it" again). The tech explained what she was doing the entire time, which was nice. She told us what she was looking for with every new shot.

The first thing she measured was his spine. He promptly rolled around and showed us his belly instead. He wouldn't stop moving! It was the cutest thing to see him twist and turn and show off. He kicked the ultrasound wand thing and was just a total ham. If we're predicting post-natal personality, he will definitely be a seize-the-stage type like I was. Though he was squirmy, the tech got every shot she needed. After his spine, she showed us the four chambers of his heart. She said that all four chambers were perfect. Next she measured his brain and we saw his profile.

We couldn't believe how much our baby had grown! The last time I saw him was at 12 weeks; Tim hadn't seen him since 9 weeks, so it was a huge difference for him.

Next, we saw his arms and hands. Then she made her way to his legs. They seemed especially long to me, but that's probably because he doesn't have much baby chub just yet. Anyway, while she was around the back of his legs he moved around and there it was.

Before she could comment I hollered out, "Is it a boy?!" It was more of a statement than a question though. "It's a boy!" she said. We all started laughing because it was just so sudden, and the tech said, "Good thing you wanted to find out; you wouldn't have been able to miss that." Our little squirmer really wanted us to know who he was. Right away Tim and I said something along the lines of, "It's Daniel." Our little boy who we knew would come before we were even ready for him. Our little boy who we always knew would be Daniel.

We were both tearing up a bit, but he kept us laughing, too, and the tech joked that she wished someone had taped my reaction. While she was taking some measurements he flipped around and decided to show us "what" he was a second time.

The tech was really getting a kick out of him. She said, "In case anyone tries to tell you that your ultrasound could be wrong, show them this one," and wrote "No doubt!" on the second picture, ha!

She still had quite a bit more to get after that, and he kept moving and being silly the entire time. Still, she managed to get everything she needed. At the end, she went back to his face to take some 3D images.

He kept one little hand over his eye, and had a perfect pout on his face. I can't get over being able to know what he looks like. I know by the time he's born he'll be a little chubbier, but we know he has a button nose and a pouty upper lip. We know he's the Daniel we've been waiting for. That night was the first night he made my belly move. :)

One of our midwives confirmed that everything on the scan looked perfect, and that he measured to the day the size he was supposed to be. The tech also got a good look at my bicornuate uterus. We were able to see that the dip is very minor, that Daniel has plenty of room to move and grow, and that he can even get in that horn a little bit when he gets bigger. Such a relief!

Tim vetoed all of my middle name ideas (boo), and asked for time to think of something. I think seeing him and knowing who he was made it extra real for him (whereas I am constantly reminded due to all of my crazy symptoms and baby kicks). Tim went out of town a couple days later, and while we were Skyping one night he said suddenly, "What do you think of Bailey?" I knew that was his mother's maiden name, but we hadn't looked at family names on that side before. I immediately liked the way the names flowed together. My family is the side that often uses last names (my name is a family name), so it kept traditions from both sides. Right away I said, "I like it! Let's do that!" Tim must have thought I'd need time to think about it, because he looked really surprised: "Really? You're sure?" "Yep!" I said. Then he did a happy Skype dance. With that, Daniel Bailey Lavender was fully known and named. We're so excited to meet our little boy in less than four months!

Trying to Go Minimal

First things first, I'll be 19 weeks on Tuesday! I've been awful about taking belly pictures; I haven't updated my cinemama app since week 7ish. I took a horrible bathroom selfie when I got my maternity clothes a week ago, but that's it. What a fail. :/ There's just so much more I need to do right now. Which brings me to this...

I'm having a serious "things" problem. Like... to the point where our cozy townhouse has no room for our rapidly approaching arrival (halfway point in a week, say whaaaaaat?). With both of us working, our things have overtaken our house. At least once a day I fantasize about just throwing 3/4 of our stuff away and living a clean, minimal life. I look at our shelf of DVDs and try to figure out which ones are on Netflix now. We never use our board games but I know when our kids are older we'll just have to buy them again. I look at the trinkets from my childhood and get a headache deciding what should stay and what should go.

I don't usually throw questions out into the universe, but what are some strategies you have for getting rid of your excess... excess? I want to get rid of about half of our things: clothes, games, movies, travel mugs, etc.

How I got a Bicornuate Uterus, and you can too!

Kidding. No you can't. And judging from what I've read so far you wouldn't want to have one. But as it turns out, I have one, so I'm going to talk about it a little bit.

A Bicornuate (or Heart-Shaped) Uterus is a medical abnormality present since my uterus developed before I was born. So in a sense, you could blame my mother's uterus. It was sufficiently punished when it was removed a few years ago.

.1-.5% percent of women are estimated to have a BU, though these numbers are hard to determine since many women have one without knowing.

As you can see, while a normal uterus has an upside down triangle shape and the entire organ can stretch for the baby, a BU is literally in the shape of a valentine heart, with the top dipping down and dividing the uterus into two halves, called "horns." The fertilized egg implants in one horn of the uterus and often the other side does not grow at all. My baby is in my right horn, which did explain why at first I only felt cramping/discomfort in my right side.

Since the baby only has half the room to grow, there are generally three risks involved. The more common risk is preterm labor with a weak cervix. I've read about many women who delivered too early for their babies to survive, however it doesn't happen often. It is quite common to deliver a viable premie and spend many weeks in the NICU though.

The second risk is growth restriction. My midwives were very chill about my condition, but did tell me to take extra care about my eating from now on. Up to this point I really don't know if I was always getting my extra 300 calories in, and they never said I had to. I don't feel good stuffing myself, and the past few weeks I was too sick to do that anyway. I've been bloated ever since I got pregnant, so I assumed I'd put on weight no matter what. Now they said that because my baby might have issues growing I need to make sure I eat a little more and make sure I pack in the nutrients. I ate really healthily until about ten weeks, when I started to get sick. After that anything but crackers, bread, and noodles just made me throw up, especially fruits and veggies. Midwives gave me zofran last week, and I'm finally able to eat normally and work good foods back into my diet.

The third risk, and the one I hate the most, is a C-section. Because the baby usually grows in one horn, there is not a lot of room to turn. That means that if the baby is breeched, it will most likely stay breeched. Meaning a mandatory C-section. My midwife said the only chances I have of delivering vaginally breeched are if the baby comes too quickly to do anything else, or if it became easier to do so during a later pregnancy. I so want my peaceful water birth and I can't stand to think about how my chances of a C-section have increased by a minimum of 20%. I don't want to spend my maternity leave potentially in a NICU AND having to recover from being cut open at the same time. I don't want to have to fight for my VBAC when the next child comes along.

My pregnancy was so typical until the moment they told me it never was. Previously one of my midwives had told me I was "boring" in a great way. Educated, married, planned pregnancy, steady finances, excellent health, no smoking or drinking... I did everything right and my pregnancy should go swimmingly. "Welcome to parenthood!" my other midwife teased me gently, "You think everything is perfect and then suddenly it surprises you."

"Then I turn out to have a freak uterus," I half-joked back.

"You don't have a freak uterus. Your uterus is heart-shaped because you're so nice," she said cheerily. "Many many women have completely normal births with this," she assured me later.

Truly I'm not so worried. I have more or less decided to stop researching it and stop reading message boards for women with a BU. It does horrible things to one's nerves. The women who tend to reach out online have experienced the worst of the condition, and it makes it look like a higher percentage of women lose babies than what actually do. While it's great that they've found a community and comfort, I just don't need to put that in my mind. I'll forgive myself a C-section, because I know that nothing (and no one) will make me have one unless I have no choice. My care will change slightly after 20 weeks. Every checkup will include an ultrasound to make sure the baby is growing. They'll do everything possible to get me full term. I can still have a normal, natural delivery if baby grows head down. There are many things that could go wrong, but just as many things could go right. I will choose to think about the "right" until I'm given a reason no to.

In which I find myself for shiz up the spout.

Here are the general specs of the pea pod or otherwise-cheesy-food-comparison growing inside me.

Planned? Yes. We tried for four months, and every time the test was negative I was thoroughly baffled as to how anyone could accidentally get pregnant when we were young, healthy, and ovulating like a boss. God just has a magnificent sense of irony I guess. Also, I've decided all of the 16 and Pregnant girls get pregnant on purpose no matter what they say. Maybe not though, because according to my mom everyone under 20 has a magically fertile uterus anyway, so don't have sex, kids. You will get pregnant. And die. Not that I know anything about sex; we obviously got pregnant by dancing. We're Baptist.

When are you due? February 25th. Child, please don't come on Valentine's Day. None of us will live it down. You could even take a little longer and be your generation's first March baby! Be a trailblazer!

Who is your doctor? Doctors, BLEH. Kidding, but seriously, we are using a midwife. I've known that would be my route since around high school I think. We are so blessed that Lynchburg has a thriving midwifery practice under the umbrella of an established medical group, so fully covered by insurance with no hassle. We hit the jackpot.

A midwife? Say what? Our midwives are certified nursing midwives (CNM's), which means that first they had degrees in nursing and then got their master's in midwifery. Another option is a certified practicing midwife (CPM), which is someone who trained in midwifery only. We were more comfortable with a CNM because they are allowed to deliver at home, a birthing center, or a hospital, they can prescribe medication, and they have a wider medical background/experience because they were nurses first. Whichever midwife is on call at the time will deliver our baby, so they make sure you have an appointment with all of them at least once. I kind of don't like that, but everyone at the clinic is so great that I got over it pretty quickly. They are seriously the best.

How will you deliver? I'm at higher risk for a C-section (more on that later), but my dream of dreams is to go natural. With interventions I wouldn't have enough control of my body or enough flexibility to give birth however (and wherever) I wanted. Medication can lead to unnecessary complications as well, but my choice is much more based on wanting to give birth in whatever position is the most comfortable in the moment (which you can't do if there are needles and tubes all over you). A CNM is capable of handling a variety of last-minute emergencies (yes, including a hemorrhage), so I am not worried about the absence of a doctor. Most women have perfectly wonderful birth experiences in hospitals and with all of the most common interventions, but I would not.

I haven't decided "how" exactly I'll have the baby (i.e. in the water, on the bed, etc.), and I think I'm going to leave that up to what is best for my body in the moment. I will say that I think water births look so peaceful and that is my preference, but I don't want to get attached to an idea that might not pan out due to my medical situation.

Where will you deliver? I will deliver at the birth center attached to Virginia Baptist Hospital. I would like to have the baby at home, but my husband is wary of that, at least for this first baby. Many natural-birth advocates tend to have an all-about-mom-and-baby approach that makes dads seem a little irrelevant, and I don't agree with that. From my perspective, this birth is also my husband's. He did half the work in creating our baby, and he has a mostly-equal vote in how it's born. He is still open to being convinced, but until he has a peace of mind about birthing at home (if he ever does), I am fine meeting him halfway with a birth center for all of our babies. And after we compromised we found out that my midwives do not deliver at home anyway. I love the care I've received at our clinic so I'm good with the birth center. I just wanted to point out that we compromised BEFORE that happened, ha.

Will you find out the gender? Yes, we gotsta know.

What will you do when the baby is born? The plan is to go as natural as possible when our baby gets here. We're going to co-sleep for the first few months, using a specially designed bassinet that attaches to our bed. We'll cloth diaper, and hopefully I'll be able to breastfeed (due to a previous surgery I might not be able to). I was mostly formula-fed and I turned out fine, so I'll be zen if my crunchier leanings don't work out. But for goodness's sake, no light-up, loud, battery operated toys. Yick.

I plan on going back to work as long as we can line up childcare (it's surprisingly hard to find infant care in our town). My mom was a stay-at-home mom and I always assumed I would be too, but now that I'm pregnant I feel pretty positive that I'll keep my job. I love teaching, and I love the financial freedom we have with two incomes. My husband and I both have a little more independence when it comes to buying things for just ourselves (generally clothes for me and weird computer stuff for him, ha), and we are (hopefully!) set up to purchase a home some time next year. I want our kids to have community roots and the security of a space that is entirely theirs, and it's empowering for me to participate in providing that. I also hate doing housework, and since we both have jobs we split the chores so that's nice, ha! Eventually I want to finish my master's and then proctor online classes, which would free me up to be home. We'll see if I have the energy to do school with a four-month-old this summer though!

How is husband doing? He is very much himself: calm. He's trooped through my early pregnancy mania, watched The Business of Being Born at least three times before refusing to watch it again, comforts me when I cry during Disney movies, gets me food, and always rubs my back and holds my hair when I throw up. We both kind of want a boy, my family is pulling for a girl, but we're all pretty excited for whatever shows up in seven weeks!

Things unexpected or otherwise learned from a day of matrimony.

In no particular order...

1. I learned that anyone who says they were not nervous before their wedding is a LIAR. Or at least, someone I am so envious of that I would like him or her to experience even an ounce of the anxiety I went through the morning-of. No, I was not having second thoughts. Yes, I was freakishly and abnormally nervous anyway. The needed medication and hands-laying-on-Spirit-calling kind of nervous. And on that note...
2. I learned that I will never be able to thank the people who helped me enough. It will be a guilt I'll carry for many years I'm sure, unless at some point I can afford to buy them all an outlandish vacation. There's just no way to describe how awesome the kind of people are who see you lying on the floor hyperventilating (yes, truth) and immediately rush for the Xanax and anointing oil. Or the kind of people who let you be sick the morning of your wedding and understand when you disappear for four hours (yes, also true) AND seamlessly get things done while you're away. I can't wrap my head around how I got so lucky to have the bridesmaids I had, or the army of helping hands and kind words that surrounded me as soon as I even attempted to lift a finger. Additionally...
3. I learned that I have good taste in friends ;). Seriously though. I tried to touch on it in my "speech" (ramble, all of it), but I'll do much better here working up the bridal party line. Corinne my junior bridesmaid was ready with a cheerful smile and quick compliment. Taylor had the coolest head under pressure, and was a calming influence and steady voice. Jennifer was the first bridesmaid to arrive and the last to leave; so ready to help with anything and everything. Tiffani gives nice hugs and calls me her sister. Janet is loyal beyond belief, and traveled the farthest to be with me when I needed her, and boy did I. Mary touched every single person with her singing; people came up to me telling me how they cried and were so moved by the soul she put into her song. And Ciera, my dear maid of honor, has the biggest heart of anyone I know. As I said on Saturday, she has immense talent and dreams to match them. It's rare to find a person so talented with such dreams that also has a giving spirit to put others before herself, but she does every day. Her speech made me cry, and Jonny's speech made me cry, and the music made me cry, and basically...
4. I learned that I am a huge crybaby. I knew I'd either be super stoic or a major sap, and as it turns out I was the latter. I cried a lot. Everyone cried a lot. People really really cried at my wedding. Maybe not Glenn Beck level tears, but it was very respectable. And on that note...
5. I learned that it's okay to cry. I hadn't cried in weeks, and work pressure morphed into wedding pressure to the point that it was 3am on my wedding day and I was wide awake convinced that I had a brain tumor and would die before I was married. You know what made me feel better (at least in part)? Going home (I had stayed the night at the inn where we got married-- mistake) and having a good cry. Tim was very understanding and not at all freaked out by my erratic weeping the morning of our wedding. Which also reminds me...
6. I learned that Tim is the best husband a girl could ask for. He proved this just hours before he became my actual husband. As I said before, I did in fact disappear for four hours the morning of our wedding. An hour or so into that I decided to let Tim know where I was so he didn't think I'd left him at the altar. Rather than get irritated or offended at my behavior on such an important day, he immediately asked me what I needed and, when I said what I needed most was to see him, he didn't think about traditions or anything he'd planned on doing that morning. And let me tell you, true love is your fiance lying in bed with you the morning of your wedding, letting you cry, not taking your polarizing fear of getting married personally, getting you Tums and Pepto-Bismal, and watching Star Trek with you until you're ready to go to the salon (where your bridesmaids are waiting for you-- very patiently). And THEN, when you return to the inn several hours later and are once again on the floor paralyzed with fear, he has someone tell you to walk to your second-story window where he's looking up at you, waving reassuringly. I married the perfect man. No, not really perfect (I know), but perfect for me.

Okay here's some more pithy stuff I learned...

1. You won't talk to everyone. I won't tell you not to feel guilty, because you will anyway.
2. You will also feel guilty when people you love stay behind to clean up when you leave for your honeymoon. Just remember, you would (and have) done the same for them. That being said, you will still feel guilty.
3. Nothing really goes "wrong," but things don't go according to plan either.
4. If you're nervous, get through the ceremony. Your reception will be really fun.
5. Cool people have thunderstorms during their outdoor reception.
6. People will only tell you nice things about your wedding, which is nice.
7. Remember that awesome reception food and cake you tasted and hand-selected to reward yourself for all of your dieting and planning? You don't get to eat it. But it's okay because you're more thirsty than hungry.
8. Ask for whatever you want and someone within earshot will get it for you (if you're the bride that is).
9. Fight for the things that mean a lot to you.
10. After literally everyone saying this to me pre-wedding, I have finally come to the conclusion that if you are married at the end of the day, then your wedding was successful. Full disclosure, I did not come to this conclusion until the end of my wedding when Tim and I had mutually decided that we had the best wedding ever, so this is probably not the purest of lessons learned. But I'll be one of those know-it-all's saying it from now on. :)

Okay I'm going back to my honeymoon now!

Being a guy-friend-aholic, and where to go from there. (Part 2)

Well, since the original installment was my most popular post, I thought I would offer the single/dating gals a few more unfortunate pearls of wisdom. Now perhaps some of you are thinking, "this is a 'wedding' blog, why are you harping about this?" Because in all loving, brutal honesty I don't think anyone is ready to get married until they STOP this destructive behavior and draw these boundaries. So once again ladies -I'm sorry- but here are the signs that you should either date the guy or distance yourself from the friendship. I will allow that having just one of these signs in your friendship might not be a glaring red flag, but start to keep an eye out for others to pop up.

And here's a little more full disclosure (or TMI?) so you know that I'm not being a self-righteous know-it-all: I have done ALL of these things. Every last one. More than once. With more than one guy. So know what I say comes from love, not judgement.

10 signs that you are playing a guy (knowingly or otherwise).

1) You hug "hello" and "goodbye."

 If you do just one or the other it's not necessarily as weird. But if you do both there is DEFINITELY no room for the Holy Spirit in this friendship.

2) You've had a conversation past midnight.

 Fact: Men like sleep. Other fact: He's sacrificing sleep for YOU. Other other fact: It's not because he really wants to hear about what your frenemy posted on Facebook.

3) You expect that he will pay, or at least try to pay, for you.

  If you expect it that means he's paid for you X number of times, which means YOU ARE GOING OUT. ALONE. A LOT. And it also means you're at risk of becoming a gold digger... incidentally even they have to commit at a certain point.

4) You hang out when it is inconvenient for one or both of you.

 Like during the summer, or when one or both of you has to skip a class. In relationship-ese that translates to "we can't bear to be apart."

5) You do something on Valentine's Day.

 Valentine's Day is for couples and kids in elementary school... so which one are you?

6) You've told him "I miss you."

 Look at your hand. Now smack yourself with it. Because explaining why this is a jerk, manipulative move would take longer.

7) He talks to you over the summer.

 Generally (if you are both in college) this means he is calling you. It is a scientific fact that guys HATE to talk on the phone. He is defying SCIENCE for you.

8) You do guy things with him and he does girl things with you.

 You know that guy who willingly went to see Titanic in 3D with you? The one who bought the tickets and let you use his shoulder as a hanky? I had a guy do that too... MY FIANCÉ. That means we're together... like together together. And even he said "no" to Titanic the first five times I asked, so take the hint already.

9) You've brought him to your "real" house.  Meaning your parents' house. Meaning he spent the night.

 Um... YOU'VE BROUGHT HIM TO YOUR PARENTS' HOUSE. HE'S MET YOUR PARENTS. HE'S SPENT THE NIGHT. I think just yelling it suffices here, so yell that to yourself a few times.

And 10) You've gone on a road trip together. Just the two of you.

 This is last because it means he has done several of the above things at once: he has talked with you about this trip for an hour or more-- probably late and probably on the phone (#2, #4, #7), you will likely be driving late at night (#2), he has made plans that cost money and he is willing to get gas (#3), he has added a significant event into his schedule and possibly taken time off work (#4), he's taking that time because he misses you or you've said you missed him (#6), it's most likely during the summer (#4, #7), AND he probably picked you up at your "real" house and may have even spent the night (#9).

Whew. You know just looking at those makes me feel like an epic jerkette. I am certainly one of the guilty. Here is the bright side: you could choose to give this guy a chance and it could be amazing. But if you absolutely don't think that's a possibility then detox, and detox now. Eventually there will be a guy you can do each and every one of these things with, and you won't just be friends. It'll be much, much better.