30 days today. Thirty. One month. Four weeks. Yes, I caved and got a countdown app.
I can’t say I’m the poster-child of happy and blushing brides-to-be at the moment. But I’m not unhappy either. I just am. I exist. Amidst making stuff for the wedding, talking to suppliers about the wedding, answering inane questions about it and getting mild panic attacks, I’m honestly all wedding’ed out. For now.
It’s not that I’m not looking forward to it, it’s not that I don’t like planning it, and it’s not like I don’t like going for dress fittings, and dance classes, and arranging pick-ups and drop-offs and payments and emails, it’s just that, sometimes, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to send emails, or have a week filled with wedding-related appointments.
But for all wedding related stuff, everything is on track. Make up has been bought, dresses for the bridesmaids have arrived, I even sourced perfume for the day. My shoes are walked in, we are amidst dance classes and we are having an engagement shoot. People will be fed, and I will probably be exhausted.
This week I had a mini meltdown when I realised I had 4 measly weekends left to do stuff in. And that I fear I don’t have enough time (does one EVER have enough time though?). I haven’t started shopping for my honeymoon swimwear, sunscreen, flip-flops or luggage yet. I have, however, sighed a big sigh of relief when I realised that I have 3 weeks of leave in less than a month.
Now, that, I look forward to. And next week is another week. I should just breathe. Or take a breather.
On a side-note. Stabby my angry back muscle made a reappearance today after spending a small fortune on physio to get it gone in the first place. Stabby is angry, and wants revenge. I have it, in the form or a lovely migraine, that I’m also about to name, because it won’t budge. I’m sure as hell not returning to a physio, for the foreseeable future.
Wine will fix it, right?