So, last night, my oldest daughter, Hilary, became engaged to her love. It was a sweet proposal, made at faire in front of the performance company, many of whom were there as surrogate aunts and uncles, huzzah’ing and toasting and generally making it a beautiful celebration. Faire photographers who have captured Hilary’s image countless times before had lined up along the edge of the Globe stage to catch the moment and I wept as I watched Daniel cradle Hilary’s face in his hands, saying sweet words that I think were meant only for her (I was close enough to catch them but I am not sharing). He had brought two of his close friends, too, and then Mandy was able to get an international line so that she and Hilary could celebrate together as only two young women who have been best friends since seventh grade can do. We drank champagne in Jeff’s office with Jeff, Bill, Eric, J.R., and the family, then the youngsters went out to celebrate while mom and dad dragged their tired selves home to bed.
On the way home I had a realization: Dear God. I am the MOTB. I have to lose weight now. Yes, my first thoughts were all for Hilary and I waited anxiously all through Saturday and Sunday, excited to see that sweet ring on her finger. But I confess it didn’t take long for my own vanity to kick in!
Here are some things that must be decided:
Do I cut my hair off in the pixie I have been dying for? If I do, it will not grow back out in time for the wedding, so I am sort of committing to a lifetime of wedding pictures with short hair, or awkward-growing-out-hair.
Must I wear the traditional MOTB dress, or can I rock a sweet number from BCBG?
What is going to be the best work out plan- yoga, cross fit, or a pole dancing class?
Which diet program is best- Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, or some silly liquid thing (I wonder if there’s a MOTB website that can tell me who’s had the highest success rate?)
Botox: yes or no?
Which fabrics will best hide the sweat stains at an outdoor wedding, and where can I place a strategic pocket in which to tuck face-blotting wipes?
Now listen, I have no intention of trying to upstage Hil, as if that were even possible. Between Hil and Libby, with Mandy thrown in the mix, I am just hoping to escape whispers of “Oh, dear, poor thing…” when people watch us line up for photos.
I cannot possible be the first MOTB to think this way. I am sure there are saintly and selfless MOTB’s preceding me whose thoughts were so focused on making the day perfect for their baby girls that the thought of their own frocks didn’t enter their minds until ten minutes before the wedding, after they’d made sure that the cake had arrived safely, the flowers were just so, the guests were all comfy, and the flower girl was not having a complete hissy fit and ruining her pretty basket. I, however am hell-bent on eliciting a couple of “Damn, she looks pretty good for an old broad!” whispers behind tastefully clever wedding programs.
Well, that’s where this MOTB’s brain is today. Except that really, watching Hilary staring at her ring and finding that she’d let the website of the most exquisite wedding venue on the computer for me to see, seeing Daniel relax and bask in the confident air of a man who’s performed a task well, looking at color palettes and vintage dresses, I really am just prepared to enjoy making this day as precious as my girl is. Well, that and prepared to get really, really thin. Get me a personal trainer and a carrot stick, stat!