The one aspect of the wedding that Sam and I prioritised was the budget for the photographer. Photography is important to the both of us as is having photos that we love of the day. Having photos of the day is especially important to me because it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for American and English family and friends to be intermingling. As much as I’d like to go back to America more often, it’s financially impossible so the fact that so many family and friends are making the journey across the pond brings me to tears.
But there’s one aspect of our wedding photos that I’m less than enthusiastic about: and that’s myself. It might seem hypocritical to say that I’m dreading having so many photos taken of myself, when I put photos up on this space all the time. But when I’m the one taking the photo (or directing it) I can make sure that there’s at least several that I’m content with. That I’m not hypercritical of. Here’s the truth of this space: for every 1 photo that you see of me there are probably 5 that I’ve deleted because I look like a swamp creature.
I’m so excited to see my bridesmaids in they finery on the day and I can’t wait to see the nieces and nephews in their outfits. I know that I’ll cry when I see Sam all dressed up at the end of the aisle. I’m hugely looking forward to showing up at the village hall on Friday and decorating it just exactly the way we want. I think everything will be glorious in photos. Except there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head that says the one thing that might ruin everything is me. Things that I’ve worried will show in photos: my permanent dark circles (genetic and not related to any amount of sleep); the fact that I have terrifying Slender Man hands; that my face sometimes bloats; that I have mild bingo wings; that I have terrible split ends for being adventurous with my hair; that my teeth are so tiny that my gums always show when I smile; that I’ll develop a Rudolph zit on the tip of my nose; that I’ll become stumpy overnight.
I had my final dress fitting on Monday and I panicked that I looked dreadful. (Side note – I bruise like a peach and it turns out that nothing highlights that more than a white dress on an extremely pale person.) Then I went to work, hung out with one of my bridesmaids who’s already here and ate french fries and wine for dinner. In the words of Taylor Swift, I shook it off. Here’s the thing: the more time I spend feeling excited about the day, the less that all those worries matter. I’m so grateful for all the friends and family who are traveling to be with us next Saturday. It makes me feel so loved and utterly happy. And you know what? Maybe it’s not the done thing to say, but: that makes me feel beautiful.