The seed of hope was planted..sometime in my teenage years: I would wear THE wedding dress of my dreams. The evening would be unforgettable, and I’d cherish the memories of dancing all night long with my beloved. In that gorgeous gown. And then…flash forward:
>>> We would have a baby girl. >>> Baby girl would reach second grade. Too soon. >>> Baby girl would get to make her First Communion. >>> My wedding gown would be transformed into a precious First Communion Dress. For Baby Girl who really hasn’t been a baby for seven years. But for Daddy and I, she’ll always be our Baby Girl. (Mamas in the house, you’re with me, right?)
Just like that. Here we are. Parents of not one Baby Girl, but three. Huge blessings. Huge responsibilities. Our oldest WILL make her First Communion this year! Not only that, but a sweet friend from church is an incredible seamstress and quilter. After a phone call and explanation of my dream, she agreed to help me with it! I promised to email photos of the dress, and then get it cleaned (after—cough—11 years. oops. my bad).
We ended the call around 4:45 pm. I laid my dress on our bed, still in the blue plastic covering from 11 short years ago. The girls followed behind me like little ducklings. “What’s going on, Mama?” I answered them a bit distracted and started cooking dinner. At a point where I could walk away from the oven, I returned to the bedroom, and pulled the plastic off of the dress. The girls and I ooohed and ahhhed. Oldest Baby Girl said “I’ll hold it, while you take the photos for Miss Joan!” She headed up the landing so the dress could be captured from top to bottom. “Click!” we got the front. “Click!” we got the back…
As I thanked her profusely for her impeccable photography skills, the timer was going off. Dinner needed to be stirred. Time to add some ingredients. My little ducklings followed me into the kitchen. “Mama! Can you put it on? It’s so pretty! Please, please, please?” I laughed. Out loud. A lot. “Ummm…no. Not so much. It’s only been 11 YEARS and 6 KIDS. No way in (heck).”
And—deflated—they left my side. About 5 more minutes spent in the kitchen. And the (dang) voice started yapping in my head. Curse you, voice. Curse you! “Maaaybeee, you could fit a thigh in. Perhaps…you could get it over your hips…” the voice kept going. I started feeling giddy with that “let’s see what happens” mentality. ***Note to self: when you hear THAT voice. Tell it to run over the FLIPPIN hills. Never to return.***
You can probably guess. I didn’t tell the voice to buzz off. Instead, I let it draw me into the bedroom to face the dress. You know, like the cartoon bodies who float towards warm dessert, with their noses leading the way? Yeah. That was me. My grin and heart leading the way as I was drawn towards the memories of my most favorite day ever.
Thank God. The girls didn’t follow me in at first. They didn’t hear the voice. They didn’t see me tiptoe past. So they went about playing and doing their own thing. Took me a good two minutes to gather all of the material, and undress.
Dunno how they sensed my predicament. But the duckling procession was before me. Just as I got the dress up and over my hips. That’s where curse words formed within me. Ugly ones. Lots of ’em. The blessed thing was stuck. Or I was stuck. Either way, I started sweating. You know what happens when you start sweating with fear? You swell. And panic more. And sweat more. And swell…
For about 30 seconds, we laughed. Tears spilled forth from our eyes as we couldn’t contain the hilarity of it all. And all too soon the laughter was over. My friend panic was back. One of the girls went to grab my Mello Mama blend of essential oils. Another ran off, in search of my phone.
Who was I gonna call? The firefighters? Oh H*ll no. So the call went like this: ring, ring, ring…
“Hi, honey! Have you left? Please say you’re on your way home! Oh good, great! Okay. So like, how soon do you think you’ll be here? 10 minutes? Sweet. Awesome. K. Oh…you want to know why I’m asking? It’s no big deal. Really. Ummm. Someone here *might* just be stuck in a wedding dress. That’s all.”
Two seconds of silence elapsed before a ginormous wave of giggles spilled forth from my handsome hubby’s mouth. “Wha???” he managed. “Hooowww?” he continued. I told him I loved him, would see him soon, then I straight hung up that phone with Olympic speed.
I awkwardly sat down in my undies, with a ring of dress holding me captive around my waist. Naked. Cherry red with embarrassment. And now? Profusely sweating. The older girls, through copious amounts of laughter: “whaddaya want us to do, Mama?” I didn’t think about my response before it escaped my lips. “BUTTER. Bring me the dang butter. Please. With a cherry on top. NO! I don’t mean the last part. I just need butter.”
My wish was their command. They came and set it before me. Just about the time My Knight in Shining Armor arrived. And proceeded to laugh. So hard he left the room, as quickly as he entered. Brought his *GD* phone in and threatened to take a photo. This hunk of mine actually expected to live, after capturing photographic evidence of a Mama body trapped into a sexy Bride’s dress. Then he looked at the butter and lost it again. Christ.
What seemed like an hour later (probably 3-4 minutes), he saddled up to me. “Ok, babydoll. What are we doing?” … “Are you kidding me?!?! We are getting the bleeping dress off. Then we are getting it turned into a bleeping First Communion Dress. And then Mama’s going to see a priest for Reconciliation after swearing like a Sailor for a straight-up-hour!”
“Hmm. Ok. What I actually meant is HOW are we doing this? What’s our game plan?” (As if this God-forsaken drama had 9 innings.)
“Well. I am going to tuck the girls down. One at a time. Then I am going to bend over (exposing my sexy granny-panty backside). At that point, you are going to pull hard (on the underlay of the dress…the thickest material). Up and over my head.
What?? NO! It won’t fit back over my hips. Trust me (even though i look ridiculous). I’m a professional. I’ll be here all week. Hopefully not stuck in this blessed dress.”
Tuck, tuck. Tuck, tuck. TUG! TUG! TUG!
PRAISE BABY JESUS! MY LOVE JUST LIBERATED ME FROM THE WEDDING DRESS PRISON I’D BEEN IN FOR OVER AN HOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ladies. Trust me. No matter how hard your sweet, precious children plead, do NOT try to fit into your Wedding Dress from 11 years and 6 kids ago. Unless you want one heck-of-a memorable July evening. Just say “No to the Dress!”