That's the only way to describe my mood Monday afternoon at work. It was hot. It was humid. I was force feeding myself a Lean Cuisine (all part of the year long bridal slim down). And all I wanted was a chocolate milkshake from Culver's.
But I could not be happier to be alive. Or engaged for that matter.
Love makes you do crazy things, and as I'm discovering in the countdown to June 12, 2010, being engaged makes you do even crazier things. Like reprimanding your fiance for not calling you at exactly 9:30 p.m. because you don't just need a week of beauty sleep leading up to the Big Day, you need a whole dang year.
Just as pregnancy has morning sickness and heartburn and all sorts of other things I don't even want to consider for a good five years, I'm finding that being engaged comes with quite the timeline as well. And I'm not talking about how many months before you're supposed to buy your dress or mail those invitations.
Stage one: Weeping
As many people know, on the fateful night my Southern Charmer laid the rock on my finger it was freezing and raining. Luckily, that's not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of that moment. It's more less how I was blubbering like Baby Beluga - in public no less.
I've never been one for being a pretty crier. Ask anyone that's ever had to drop me off at an airport. I get red, I get splotchy, I wail and of course mutter - correction - blabber on about incoherent things. Multiply this times 20 if I manage to spot myself in a mirror mid-cry.
Mid-spiel about all the things he loves about me and his insanity for wanting to spend the rest of his life with me, I went into the ugly cry. Some brides likely wept. Not me. But at least I can say they were tears of ultimate joy.
Stage two: Obsessive phone calling
The next stage of engagement begins immediately after, or sometimes during, the said proposal weeping. Mine began in the parking garage when my mom couldn't possibly understand why I was asking her to go wedding dress shopping with me. And continued straight down the Guckeen line into best friends territory. As luck would have it, half of them didn't answer.
Stage three: Shock (or perhaps, terror)
There is a point, in becoming a bride, when sheer terror sets in. I can remember the exact wall I was staring at in John & Erin's house during our engagement celebration when it hit. Oh my god. I'm a bride.
As a child, teenager, and who am I kidding, at times college student, I had a secret notebook of wedding plans that I tried my best, and as far as I remember, secretly kept hidden from the rest of the world. No one needed to know my 14-year-old plans of having 12 bridesmaids that eventually got pared down to six during college, and axed to five when it was time to actually pop the question.
Except now everyone did. Everyone needed to know my wedding plans. Everyone wanted to know my wedding plans. And as the bride, I actually had to make them. (With my groom of course).
Stage four: Awe
Who am I kidding? If I had to give a dollar away to starving children in Africa for every time I stole a glance at my diamond I'd have solved world hunger by now. I know the exact location where I can get the best light to make that baby shine (in our church... usually during the homily) and when it's safe to stare at it for more than five seconds at a time (when everyone is out to lunch). I've gone entire flights making the passengers around me squirm because they're positive I'm destined for the loony bin - or whatever place you go when you can't stop staring at your ring finger.
Stage five: Insanity
You would think the staring at the ring finger for obscene amounts of time would fit into the insanity category. But that little quirk looks like nothing compared to the whirlwind I have become when it comes to wedding planning. (Note: I said whirlwind. Not bridezilla).
I never pictured myself as a June bride, but due to constrained budgets, my fall 2009 wedding was out, and due to impatience, a fall 2010 wedding was wayyyy out. Which somehow booked me a wedding in the most wedding crazed month of the year. And gave me the creeping suspicion that every person engaged or even relatively close to engagement was going to steal my church, reception venue, DJ, florist and god knows what else.
Stage six: Bliss
The church is booked. The reception hall contract signed. The photographer set to go. The check off to the DJ. And somewhere, little mice are sewing my wedding dress. Aside from that sticky little bit about my fiance being in Alabama and me in Wisconsin. Life could not be more perfect.
At least until the Save the Dates arrive this week and need addressing.
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