So. Where to start?
First of all, thanks for all the lovely comments on my last post (and over at Drama Queen's). I've become rather too used to people being nice to me and telling me how lovely I looked. It's lucky the Boy is here to keep me down to earth - he told me I looked wide the other day when I asked if a particular top looked ok or not. If he'd called me fat that would be bad enough, but WIDE? As in 'Caution, Wide Load'? I was most upset.
The wedding was ... amazing. Hard to describe without sounding overly sentimental and sickly sweet and smug-married-like. Suffice to say it went like clockwork and I enjoyed every second of it. The weather was beautiful. I managed not to fall over, or cry, or spill my dinner down my front, or any of the horrors I had imagined. I did fluff my vows slightly, but only a little bit, and the worst that happened was a bit of a stern look from the minister. It really couldn't have gone any better, and I feel very fortunate indeed that we had such a beautiful day. It was lovely seeing all our family and friends getting together for our benefit, eating and drinking and having a good time.
I wasn't nervous at all beforehand. I'm normally a bit of a worrier so this was something of a revelation. I thought the bridesmaids would have to scrape me off the ceiling come 2pm but I was calmer than they were. I got some butterflies when I realised that guests were arriving - somehow the only people I had considered were the immediate wedding party, I had completely disregarded the fact that 60 other guests were descending on the place, so when I remembered about them I got a bit nervy. But other than that, I was cool as a cucumber. Most unlike me.
The rest of the day went by in a bit of a blur. I couldn't finish my dinner (which I was gutted about), and had to go up to our room and take my dress off, as in eating nearly three courses I had lost the ability to breathe out completely. When the Boy came to find me for our big entrance into the evening reception and our first dance as husband and wife (which was to this version of 'Dream A Little Dream Of Me' if you're interested in the outcome of this argument), he was already a bit tiddly. By the LAST dance, he was completely trollied, and spent most of the song leaning on my shoulder, getting further and further down the longer the song went on. By the time all the guests had departed and we finally got back to our room, I had to undress him (and not in the good way) and put him to bed before he fell over. I, however, was sober as a judge but not for want of trying.
It all seems like a looong time ago now.
I feel like I should reward anyone who's still reading for all my bleating on about the wedding, so I'm breaking with tradition and posting some pictures of me and Hubby (hee!). So long as you don't tell anyone, okay?
I've decided (or rather it was decided for me), that I'm going to take the Boy's name after all. As everyone probably knew I would. I'm keeping my maiden name as a middle name, and the Boy has agreed to do the same, which is a pretty good compromise. I do feel old being Mrs Teeny, and yes, I do still immediately think of his mother whenever someone calls me by my married name, but I'm sure that will pass.