I’m getting married in 67 days, but 67 is just a number. The number doesn’t make it any more or less real.
Even all the planning hasn’t made it real. The dress hasn’t made it real.
The bridal shower kind of helped it sink in a little more.
The first ten minutes or so, I had to keep reminding myself that the shower was about me. I’ve never had a shower thrown for me before. People were piling gifts in my lap, but they weren’t just presents for me–they were presents for me and my fiance that I was opening and gasping over in delight.
I’ve been to showers. I’ve seen the bride in the chair with her maid of honor next to her, jotting notes. I’ve never been the one in the chair. I kept forgetting I was the one in the chair. I was so delighted to see people I loved, but I was always surprised to see them looking at me, as if I was the most important person in the room.
But they were. I’m a bride to be.
I’m getting married.
Suddenly I find myself surrounded by dishes and flatware and linens and suddenly, everything is starting to feel very, very real.