Previously, 2011 was known as “The Year of the Wedding.” Everyone in The Hubs’ family decided to get married that year and I decided, yes. This will be the time I lose my last ten pounds of baby weight and look awesome.
My brother-in-law was getting married the end of July and The Hubs was in the wedding party. So, I decided to treat myself to a new dress. I mean, hey, why not? The Hubs got to rent a suit/vest/tie/pocket square combo. So, I saved my pennies and bought a form fitted, dark blue 1950s style “wiggle dress.” It looked nice, but I decided it would look even better if I lost a touch more baby weight and got toned. Not because I’m vain (yeah, I’m actually completely vain), but because The Toddler at that point was almost a year old. It was time. I’d tipped the scales when I was in labor at 198.5 pounds. At that point I was down to 160.
And can I just stop and say: why in God’s name was the first thing, upon reaching The Labor and Delivery room, I had to do was get on the scale? Seriously? “Here you go, ma’am. Yeah, your water broke. Yeah, your contractions are pretty close together. But just hop up here on the scale and lets take a gander.” Ugh. I’ll admit I lost all shame faster than I thought I would, but come on. I don’t care if you want to check and see how dilated my cervix is, but my weight and my bloated face is my business.
Way off point.
So, around this same time, I decided “hey, maybe I should join the Navy!” Because, you know, that made sense. I contacted a recruiter. I started working out and counting calories and dropped thirty pounds like it was nobody’s business. Boom! Skinny! Boom! Getting in shape! Boom! Dress looks amazing!
“Hahaha,” I said out loud, like fifteen times. “Watch, all this hard work and I’ll end up getting pregnant and not be able to wear the silly dress anyway.”
It took me a year to get pregnant with The Toddler. Shortly before his first birthday, there was an evening of, lets just say, panic and bad math skills. “Oh, it’ll be fine.” I told The Hubs.
A few weeks later I went to the recruiting office to fill out my application paperwork and get things scheduled to go to MEPS, the in processing. I didn’t sign anything binding, because my next stop after the recruiter was Target. To buy a pregnancy test.
Because, yes, I was pregnant and didn’t get to wear the silly dress anyway.
“Sorry.” I emailed the recruiter. “I’m pregnant and won’t be enlisting.”
“That’s okay.” He emailed back. “You would have made a great sailor.”
This was the second time I’d tried to enlist in the Navy. And this was the second time I’d gotten pregnant while trying to enlist. At this point, I decided God was telling me the only sailing I should be doing would be Sailing for Adventure while watching Muppet Treasure Island. Hey Ho.
Fast forward to now. 2013 or whatever year this is. I’ve lost my baby weight again. Now the blue dress doesn’t fit because it’s too darn big. But this year is the new “Year of the Wedding.” I’m in a wedding in a week and a half. The Hubs is in a wedding in June. I’m the matron of honor in a wedding in August. And I hate the term, matron. I told the bride I’m just going to refer to myself as Super Bridesmaid and wear a crown. She vetoed the crown but offered to put Super Bridesmaid in the wedding program. I said I’d rather have the crown.
Look, I have no inhibitions or indecision for the upcoming weddings. I have indigestion over the fact I’m notoriously clumsy and am wearing three-inch heels down the aisle. I could fracture my face or something and end up rolling down the aisle. It’s all part of the show, kids! All part of the show.
The wedding next week is a dry wedding. Some of my friends are scandalized by this, not because we’re a bunch of alcoholics (no, we’re all quite the opposite: tired parents who don’t even get to use the bathroom in peace anymore), but because…that’s rare these days. A friend offered to lend me her flask. The Hubs offered to buy me a flask. I was like, “Really guys? I get tipsy after half a bottle of Corona Light. You want me to be the only drunk bridesmaid at a dry wedding?”
There was brief discussion.
If the bride is reading this, look, I promise not to be drunk or tipsy at your wedding. I cannot promise I won’t be over caffeinated and overly giddy at the fact I can use the bathroom without a child’s face peeking under the door and saying, “Hi Momma!” Will I be weeping that I miss the Rowdy Boys? Yes. Will I be blogging? Yes. Will I get pregnant? NO.
It will be epic.
