on hating my wedding.
For the past three months, I haven’t really talked (or blogged, obviously) about the wedding.
I haven’t really wanted to think about it.
Not the actual marriage/family part- I love re-living Pop Pop dancing for dollar bills and the tears in Josh’s eyes when I said, “til death do us part.’
But the very pieces I had spent months planning and slaving over. The details. The music, the food, the decor, etc. Gross. Don’t ask.
Then yesterday I started going through the photos to print and frame and all that and I realized something. I really really like my wedding. Really.
I think I look fat in my photos. And the stylist totally effed up my hair (zig zag part? really? what is this, 1995?) My nose looks ginormous in profile. Yuck.
And then it hit me. All of the railing I do against having unreal expectations for your wedding, and here, I’d been subconsciously sucked in myself. Of course my nose looks ginormous. I have a ginormous nose. Why wouldn’t it look that way just because I have a wedding dress on?
And no, I don’t have glamorous getting ready shots. Because, surprisingly, I don’t look so great while I’m struggling to squash my boobs into a dress while wearing no make-up.
So, kids. Brace yourself. You’re not going to look like a model in every photo. Just sayin.
(a clearly UN-posed photo of some awesome girls scrubbing dirt off of my dress. Because apparently it’s a bad idea to lean against a car when you’re in head-to-toe white. via Love Me Do, obv)