Things have been a bit hectic round here lately, what with wedding planning, hastily creating angel costumes out of baby cot sheets and gold doilies (worked really well) and whipping up party treats of little jellies in bun cases (went a bit Salvidor Dali so I furtively dropped them off and then ran. Paper is not a trustworthy jelly-holding material, for your future reference). Then there’s been all the Christmas shopping and rushing about laughing tinklingly at champagne-drenched parties. That last bit was a lie. Anyway, I’ve been a bit quiet and I’m sorry. Still here.
Today I finally took delivery of the sky-hooked and industrially reinforced underwear necessary for me to appear in public in my wedding dress, so Sausage came round and helped me try it all on. I can’t be too specific, obviously, because it would be scandalous if Trulove should catch even the tiniest hint of a glimpse of my trousseau (let’s gloss over the 5 years living in sin and 2 kids out of wedlock). But I realised that there’s at least one advantage to having the children before the wedding when, having battled, squoozed and gasped my way into the dress Ziggler breathlessly sighed, ‘mummy, your bottom is lovely’ and decided I looked like a princess. Then she helped me on with my shoes in an efficient personal-shopper type way and enthused ‘I love your shoes,’ very convincingly. Sausage suggested Ziggler tried her bridesmaid dress on while we were having a trying-on session. Pickle did a very noisy and stinky poo just as we were thinking about whether she should try hers too. We decided against. Ziggler looks incredibly cute in her dress and when she twizzles the skirt sticks right out. When I twizzle in my wedding dress the skirt sticks right out, too. So we twizzled like beautiful princesses for a bit. ‘Sing, mummy,’ ordered Ziggler, and so – I might as well admit this since Sausage isn’t going to let me forget it – I found myself singing Belle’s opening song from Beauty and the Beast or Lady and the Monster as it’s known in this house. Yes, I, a grown and rather matronly woman of thirty-five, feel a bit like a Disney Princess in my wedding dress. Which is how it should be, really.
Then we all got changed and went downstairs, and Ziggler weed on the carpet in all the excitement. So I scrubbed the carpet for the zillionth time, and then later on found myself eating Pickle’s leftover tea from the trough in her bib. I think I’m planning a wedding with a pretty realistic idea of what married life will be like. No helpful bluebirds assisting with the washing-up round here so far. In fact, I’m guessing, it’ll be pretty much like now, but a bit skinter.