This Friday a year ago. What was I doing?
Getting up super-early to go and pick up an unexpectedly small and very expensive bunch of calla lillies from Leeds Market. Hyperventilating. Baking a ridiculous number of cookies in endless silly varieties (After Eight?) to stuff into mason jars and stress-eating far too much of the batter. Making lists of lists of lists of things then packed into endless crates and boxes to go to the venue. Making another list, of the list of lists. Losing that list in a box in a crate that then went to the venue.
Leaving all of our normal food to swelter in the sun as I rammed our tiny fridge full of homemade pecan pies, cheesecakes and brownies. Screaming when I saw our wedding cake for the first time and wondering how I ever thought I didn't want one. Watching my Mum transform above meagre blooms into two simple, beautiful posies, like a flower magician.
Saying goodbye to Sam-the-boyfriend for the last time ever. Commencing the most phenomenal set of jitters that didn't really go away until I woke up on Sunday morning. Putting my puffball veil in the shower to steam it and praying my slightly dopey boy lodger wouldn't knock it into the loo. My best friend being there to hold my hand, cook me a delicious, sensible vegetable-based tea and make me feel less anxious about the fact that I'd spent all day picking at cookie batter and not going to the gym. Watching Dirty Dancing and not Bridesmaids (just THANK GOD we didn't watch Bridesmaids. If you've seen it, you'll know why two BFFs should not watch this film on one of their wedding nights. THANK GLORIOUS GOD).
Finalising the final final details. Trying not to be stressed. Getting stressed about trying not to get stressed. Trying REALLY hard not to be stressed about being stressed about being stressed.
Getting stressed anyway.
And then waking up on Saturday, putting my frock on and walking down the aisle to this:
And having the giddiest, greatest day ever.
Happy anniversary for Monday, Mr Husband. Here's to all the other ones to come.