Share

In exactly two days, I will be Mrs. Brittany Love. I am excited about getting married, but disappointed that I haven’t had the chance to really savor the time and anticipation building up to the big day.

There is a vastly mixed school of thought out there regarding hiring a wedding planner or coordinator, and we chose not to hire one for two reasons. First, the expense seemed too great a part of our budget, especially because I began our engagement as a student, spent several months unemployed while studying for the bar exam, and only began receiving a paycheck in October. Cost was prohibitive. Second, I knew that I could do the planning myself, and I believe that I have done a great job of that.

I know that my wedding will be executed to perfection, but was it worth my sanity?

As a world-class procrastinator, I like to put off things until the last minute, then crank them out. Occasionally, I am left feeling unfulfilled, knowing that I should-have, could-have, would-have done a better job if I’d just started sooner. I was determined not to let that happen to my wedding, so I stuck to checklists religiously. I knew that deadlines were coming up for things, and I knocked them out accordingly. Some things ran behind schedule for unavoidable reasons, but they got done.

That said, the last minute details are mind-boggling for a self-planning bride.

To begin, I am not prepared to release the reins on my big day. I have planned a killer party for a hundred people—why would I stop short the day before? As time has come to unavoidably delegate duties, I am overwhelmed with the logistics of everything. Things I would normally ask a friend or relative to do have become a problem because all of those go-to folks are already involved in the day. I don’t know how I’m going to resist the urge to reset the tables if I don’t like them or rearrange the centerpieces if someone knocks them around while placing them. I took massive amounts of time preparing the little details, and now I’m worried about such minute things that I feel like I might have a meltdown.

I made my own hairpiece because I didn’t like any I had seen.

I cut hundreds of sheets of paper for my menus and programs because the only designs I liked were 12”x12”scrapbooking pages.

I dyed my shoes the exact color of my earrings because I couldn’t find a pair that matched.

I APPLIED MAKEUP AND ACCESSORIES TO A BOBBLEHEAD CAKE TOPPER SO SHE LOOKED MORE LIKE ME.

Who has time to get their nails done when the drink list might not end up in the right place?!

Next, some things have fallen short of expectations, and I am spending time being frustrated about things well out of my control. For starters, I got news yesterday via email that my entire floral order was being detained. In customs. In Miami. The day before their scheduled arrival. While I realized I might have ordered flowers that are not in season in the US, I had not thought about the fact that they might need “clearance” to get to my wedding on time. I had no problem trusting a major bulk flower distributor to get me the flowers I wanted, because that’s the entire basis of their work. If my flowers come from Ecuador, certainly hundreds of other florists must be getting them from the same farms and fields. Yet mine sit in Miami, hopefully not wilting away in cargo, because they are part of a “global consolidated shipment that has not received clearance by the brokerage.” At least, that’s the explanation I got after an hour on the phone.

In the words of Vonnegut, so it goes.

While I stress out on a microcosmic level, I am also regularly reminded that all things that happen on Saturday are out of my control. No matter how hard I plan everything to perfection, each time I check the weather forecasts, I see the gloom and doom of thunderstorms on my Big Day.

“It’s good luck to have rain on your wedding day!” say brides that had their ceremonies indoors and had to run from their limo to the entrance. Say brides who had rain and survived. Say brides who paid someone to coordinate a backup for them.

I don’t know about you, but I am getting married for better or worse. I don’t need “luck,” I need sunshine for the thousands of dollars I spent on photography, apparel, hair, and makeup. Isn’t “luck” having beautiful weather for an entirely outdoor event? We picked Jekyll Island because of the beautiful beaches and the opportunity to take dramatic, awe-inspiring pictures next to towering, hundred year-old driftwood. Not so that we could get zapped by lightning like ants under a magnifying glass.

Despite my curmudgeonly attitude towards a little water on my wedding day, there is some “luck” to be found in the forecast—a reminder that ultimately, I’m not in control of what happens that day. That no matter how bad the weather is, or what happens, as long as I don’t forget to pick up the license on Friday, I will be married by the end of it all.

If I did it again, I’d hire a day-of coordinator, hands-down. I am not a planner, and every bride deserves the chance to sit back, relax, and enjoy her big day. You can’t put a price on that.

No matter what happens in the next two days, by Saturday night, I will be dancing and drinking and celebrating with my husband and a hundred of our very best friends, whether we’re cold, whether we’re wet, whether a vase gets shattered, whether the DJ decides to play the chicken dance despite an explicit prohibition.

In exactly two days, I will be Mrs. Brittany Love, and there’s nothing I would rather be.

This affects comments on all stories.