So I decided it’s time for a drama-free post. What the hell – back to real life for at least a few days. My next RE appointment isn’t until Tuesday, and being as symptom-free as I am (though I learned today that NONE of my swim-suit tops are even close to a comfortable fit anymore. ouch!) I’m unlikely to have anything interesting to report for at least a few days. At least on the baby-making front. So instead, I’ll report on the bit that for normal people usually comes first – the getting married part!
We went to the beach today, and sat on the “kids & moms” side, and it was wonderful. For the first time in a few years, I was able to enjoy the pure giddy happiness of watching small children + sand + waves without feeling all dried up and bitter inside. And, appropriately, it provided a nice, relaxing place for the boyfriend and I to discuss our upcoming nuptials.
Well, actually what happened is that he said, as we were signing me into his beach club, “We ought to just hurry up and get married so that we don’t have to keep paying the fee to get you in as my guest.”
I hit him, of course. And rolled my eyes. And called him a killer of romance. And then I hit him again, just to make sure he got the point.
(Understand that we’ve had a deal since the early days of this relationship. I want a baby and he wants a wife. Since I have certain trust issues regarding babies/husbands, & past failures on both fronts thereof, he was willing to wait on the marriage thing until I got knocked up. So it’s not like he hasn’t proposed before, but still, proposing that we should marry so we won’t have to pay the extra entry fees to his silly beach club each year? I feel like hitting him again, these several hours later, just to make sure he really got the point the first time around.)
But then we talked about it, semi-seriously, for the first time in a long time. And we agreed on a plan. It’s a second marriage for each of us, and he’s got kids from his first. And his daughters are going to be less than thrilled, (though since they don’t yet know about the existence of sprog, I’m thinking wedding plans will be less than a blip in this summer’s angst.) I’d rather not make a huge fuss. My parents live on the other side of the country & shouldn’t really be expected to come to two weddings in fewer than five years. Plus, I really hate being the center of attention. Weird, but true. So, I’d just as soon leave town and do it on our own. It’s supposed to be my day, and I really don’t want a party. Or a dress or a bloody orchestra or flowers or any of the rest of it. Except the husband part. I don’t mind that bit.
But, if his kids really want to attend, (and can be convinced to leave the cauldrons of pigs’ blood at home) I’m willing to do something in the city. If, however, they don’t want to see their dad publicly admit that he loves someone who isn’t their mother, then I’d just as soon “elope” – go spend a weekend somewhere that isn’t this city, just the two of us.
See, from my perspective, an elopement solves a lot of “problems.” Very little fuss, but enough fuss that I won’t feel like we squeezed it in, in between washing the car and, say, cooking dinner one night. But when I brought up that idea, the boyfriend remarked on how impractical it was going to be to get away during this busy summer for a whole weekend, what with his convention schedule, taking his youngest girl to visit colleges, etc. Maybe we should just go down to the courthouse in between, er, washing the car & cooking dinner.
So I hit him again. Harder this time. Going to beat some romance into him if I have to…
Then I dragged him off to the snack bar, figuring that if my blood sugar was low enough to make me resort to violence, then his must be flatlining by now.
Sugar and starch worked their magic, and somewhere between the french fries & the milkshakes, we came up with a plan. He’ll tell his daughters what’s going on. Which, I think he was sort of hoping to avoid. *rolls eyes*. (I may be persona non grata in the house, but at least I know better than to inform my nearest & dearest after the fact about something so life-altering.) *rolls eyes so hard I just gave myself a bit of a headache, in fact*
So, he’ll ask his daughters if they want to attend our wedding. If they do, we’ll make it easy on them and do it in the city. Probably at the courthouse. And I’ll call my folks and ask if they want to fly out for my wedding.
And then we’ll all go out to dinner somewhere – my folks can meet his folks, and it’ll be the most terrifying 24 hours of my life. If, however, his kids would rather gouge out their own eyes with soup spoons, then I’ll figure out where I want to try to do this on our own, (Bar Harbor! Quebec City! Iceland!) and only announce it after it’s done. Deal? Deal!
We even talked rings. And whether I’ll change my name. And he, very wisely, decided after his earlier blunders, to take the “Whatever you want is fine, love,” tack.
Goofy man. Makes me remember why I adore him. Well, that and the fact that he’s turned into quite the nurse.
You gotta love a man who can give a PIO shot with authority, very little pain, and a guaranteed cuddle afterwards. At least I do.
Which is why, in the end, I suppose I’ll do whatever makes it easiest on the both of us. I don’t need the memorable wedding, I got the memorable guy. And I adore him. With all of my heart and uterus.