Weddingbee

Waiting to walk down the aisle, I felt a sense of serene emptiness. Waiting to make our grand entrance as husband and wife, Mr. Lovebug and I were all butterflies and anticipation. We were nervous about our first dance - all those eyes on us! - but mainly, we were just anxious to talk to everyone, hear reactions to the ceremony (ok, maybe that was just me), and poppez le Champagne.

Funnily enough, as we waited around the corner and “hid”, some of our friends came trouping down the hall. “You’re not supposed to see us yet!” I whisper-yelled. But then it was an “Oh my god, I love your dress!”-fest with the girls I hadn’t seen earlier, while Mr. LB snuck a quick shot.

Suddenly, we were on! Our DJ was on a cordless microphone all night, so coordinating the entrance (and cake cutting, toasts, etc.) was seamless; “All I Want is You” by Barry Polisar kicked up, we took a deep breath, and headed into our wedding.

I’m not crazy about our entrance photos, but this one has two things going for it: 1) how I apparently shot off and left Mr. Lovebug a good three feet behind, and 2) my freakish, Linda Hamilton-esque arms:

Um, wtf? LOL You’d think the way they’re all flexed out that my dress weighed fifty pounds, or that I’d busted out quick set of 20 reps in the hallway beforehand (it was only ten, I swear - that typewriter is HEAVY).

I wish I could say that the second we stepped onto the dance floor, the whole world disappeared. It didn’t. It was right there, on its feet, watching and making us feel, inevitably, quite self-conscious. For Mr. LB, his nervousness was compounded by his conviction that I was going to break into clapping à la Mr. and Mrs. Monkey (we danced to the same song as them - “The Way I Am”, by Ingrid Michaelson).

We just sort of talked low and laughed for the first minute…

…but then came a moment when my new husband looked at me in a way that took my breath away, and I was instantly right back to the night we met:

And that was when it all hit me - the fact of it all. A feeling of warmth that settled into my stomach and could only be described as deep contentment. All the drama of dating behind me, all the years of being single, or sad, or just plain mismatched. Bridget Jones would probably describe it as “smug married” syndrome. But it wasn’t a vindictive feeling. It was just a huge, satisfying exhalation, with a sort of tickling happiness underneath it all.

And for me - cringe though some might - that tickling was whispers of “home”, “stability”, “babies”. Anyway - it was a nice moment.

Dinner came immediately afterward, during which I ate approximately 1/14 of my salad before we ditched our sweetheart table to talk with guests (who were in fact still eating - aren’t we considerate?). Right after dinner, I showed a slideshow and the video I’d made for Mr. LB.

The hours of splicing and editing in iMovie were all worth it though, for this shot of rapt attention:

The gentleman pictured here in the white shirt is, after Mr. LB, my very best friend. You know the friend you’ve had forever, who you’ve cried with, laughed with, and can go for months without seeing but still be just two peas in a pod with? That’s Mason. For support, encouragement, and availability, he blows a stadium full of bridesmaids away.

(I have no idea what I’d said to get this look from him, but it probably wouldn’t be W’bee appropriate, anyway.)

One of the things that made the day so incredible was the fact that Mason was there at all. Several years prior, he’d been diagnosed with a brain tumor. But not having insurance, Mase never had the option of surgery. His options were years of migraines, MRIs, and hope.

Well, a few days before my wedding, I had dinner with Mason. He told me that he had finally been able to pull together enough money to have surgery. There was a good chance of success, he said, but any complications would be devastating–if not fatal. He told me this, and I stared across the table at him, mouth agape.

“When?” I demanded, instantly sick with worry. “Not till you leave for Ireland,” he said, looking at me levelly. “I’m going to see you get married first.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” I asked, furious that he’d kept this news from me. “You’ve had enough on your plate,” he answered. “I didn’t want you to stress about this, on top of everything else.”

That’s Mason. And here he is, being the BFF toastmaster:

I can’t remember his entire toast, but it was basically a paean to (his perception of) my wit, talent, etc. that pretty much turned my throat into a knot the size of Alaska. The last line was, “To the smartest girl I know, and to the guy making the smartest decision of his life. Cheers.”

What’s it like when your best friend knocks his wedding toast out of the park? It’s like this:

(I’m delighted to report that Mason’s surgery was a success, and though he’ll be monitored in the coming months, all signs are that he’s going to be just fine. )

I wasn’t the only one undergoing some serious emotionality, though. After toasts, Mr. Lovebug danced with his mum, proving that Ugly Cry Face Phenomenon is not, in fact, limited to the female gender:

What is it about dancing shots at weddings that capture people so well? Maybe it’s that weddings make everyone feel something powerful.

Whether it’s attraction…

…or affection:

…or just plain joy:

Even just watching makes you feel good:

Of course, there’s dancing and then there’s dancing. So lest you think of going anywhere, kindly keep your dials tuned to All Lovebug, All The Time, because there’s dancing the likes of which should never see the light of blog yet to come.

All photographs by Chris Richards.

BONUS MATERIAL - Those of you who asked me to post our ring exchange dialogue can read it right here.

• Penguins In Motion Part 1
• Introducing Miss Green Te...