Oh, how I love weddings.
Hillary and Ryan had an intimate, casual wedding outdoors at the groom’s parents’ beautiful home on Saturday. The groom made his entrance on a bicycle with empty Rockstar cans tied to the back. Hillary looked glamorous in her dress, with make-up and hair to match the 1920’s theme.
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| Photo shamelessly stolen from Hill's Facebook page. They look so perfect , I had to do it. |
On Sunday, I attended the wedding of my dear friend, Stef, in Boston. She and Jim had a lovely Catholic ceremony in a beautiful, old Gothic church. She looked so elegant in her slim, lace gown. As Stef walked down the aisle toward the alter and her future, Jim melted at the sight of her.
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| Photo credit: Mark Irmscher |
My girlfriends and I had a fabulous evening. We properly represented the over-thirty crowd on the dance floor as we rocked out to Bon Jovi, Journey, Salt-N-Pepa and Digital Underground. It’s an eclectic mix, I know, but so are we.
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| Photo credit: Mark Irmscher |
As much fun as I was having, I missed my Hubs and baby boy so much. (This is why they weren’t with me.) I’ve never been away from the baby this long before.
Overall I held up pretty well. I stayed busy at the ceremony, assisting the bridesmaids, taking pictures and practicing my scripture reading. I told myself that the knot in my stomach was just “public speaking jitters,” but it didn’t go away once my part was over. At the reception, I danced and laughed and drank wine with my friends and tried to ignore the ache in my heart.
Monday morning, I flew home to a happy baby boy. He lit up when he saw me and gave me a big kiss, which I returned tenfold. You’d have thought I had been away much longer than just 40 hours!
Being on the plane was actually the hardest part. I tried to sleep on my red-eye flight to Boston, but the darkness, silence and solace created the perfect environment for a few tears. Luckily the gentleman next to me slept the whole flight so he didn’t notice the quiet sound of small sobs (or the whoosh-a, whoosha, whoosh-a of my breast pump).
For such a whirlwind trip, I packed light. I had a small suitcase, a backpack and my breast pump bag, all of which I intended to carry on the plane. I didn’t want to wait at baggage claim upon my return so I could get home to Quinn as soon as possible.**
As I boarded the flight to Boston, the gate agent stopped me and said I could only have two carry-on bags. I explained that one was a breast pump, but he didn’t seem to care and told me to consolidate my luggage. (Even though several women boarded before me with two carry-ons and a purse much larger than my breast pump!)
I tried to explain that I was just going to have to take the pump out again as soon as I got to my seat, so there was really no point in trying to cram it into my bag. I would just delay the boarding process while I blocked the aisle getting it back out again.
My logic did not sway him. He said, “You cannot walk onto the plane with more than two carry-on bags. What you do after that is up to you.” Already in an emotional state, I let the little bald man Have It.
“You do realize how stupid this is, right?” I said, my voice rising. I set my backpack on the ground, unzipped it, and placed the breast pump on top of the other contents so it protruded out of the top of the backpack.
“Ta da!” I said sarcastically, glaring at him. “Happy now?” Without waiting for an answer, I marched down the jet way, half expecting him to shout after me. But he didn't. When I reached the end and waited to enter the plane, a young man behind me said, “Miss, your bag is open.”
I started to say, “yes, I know,” but then I saw the smirk on his face, and I realized he had witnessed my little performance. “Sorry. I’m a little emotional today.”
“Don’t apologize,” he replied. “That guy was a dick face.”
Haha! Yes. He. Was.
**I had to wait at baggage claim when I got home anyway. The jerks overbooked my return flight and there was no more room in the overhead bins, so they made me check my small suitcase. All that hassle and careful planning and packing just to wait twenty minutes at baggage claim anyway! But since I try to limit my number of public meltdowns, I kept quiet this time. Kind of made me wish I hadn’t wasted my meltdown on the first flight.
Quick update: Last week, I told you how afternoon naps are making me fat and broke. The lovely Alison over at Mama Wants This posted my question and received several of great responses. Head back over there today to see the ideas, tips and advice I received.
