Weddingbee Blog

After my sister and I had finished ogling our statuesque mother, I slipped into the adjacent room to take down my dress that had been carefully hung on a padded dupioni silk hanger, purchased from Etsy seller tokyoblues.

{Photo by Aruna B. Photography}

As I draped the delicate alencon lace dress and veil over my arms and turned to walk out into the sitting area of our suite, a thought struck that made me stop dead in my tracks: “…am I going to have to show my…boobs…to everyone?” Stunned, I couldn’t believe that the thought had never crossed my mind that in order to get dressed (and have pictures taken), I would first have to get un-dressed.

After a moment’s hesitation, I walked through the door with wide eyes and vaguely remember apologizing for my inevitable nudity. There was a bit of fussing from my characteristically modest mom as I divested myself of my clothes (she seemed every bit as mortified as I to be stripping down in front of a crowd), but after a few awkward giggles and quick helping hands, my dress was on.

I had to explain to my mom that the dress first needed to be zipped up because the buttons on the back were for decoration only.

“Ohhhhh, I see how it goes!”

And with that, the woman who dedicated her entire life to her three children, whom I’ve loved, hated, fought, laughed with, and still call “mommy” when I’m upset tenderly fastened the back of my dress much as she used to when I was just a small child.

We pulled out the pearl necklace she wore on her wedding day to my dad, and she explained the history behind the piece to those in the room as she secured the clasp at the back of my neck.

My relationship with my mom has always been a difficult one, even from a very young age. Her high expectations coupled with a strict “Tiger Mom” parenting style would often do battle with my stubborn, already intensely self-critical nature. Toss in a couple of hot tempers, grab a bag of popcorn, and you’re in for a pretty good show. Despite these frequent clashes, I deeply love and respect my mom for the sacrifices she has made to give her children a good life. Something unspoken passed between us as she stepped back to take a look, and I knew she was saying “I love you. I’m proud of you.”

There were a few more touches to be had before I could be deemed “ready.” The previous bride who wore my dress had a french bustle put in, and this was the general reaction when someone asked whether or not I knew how to tie it.

Sister Tartlet: “Seriously. You didn’t take the time to figure this out?”

Me: “I dunno, I figured we’d work it out later.”

*cue collective facepalm* Everyone else: “Time to look under your dress!”

The veil went on with instructions on how to pull it out without mussing up my hair, and then my sister helped me into the darling shoes that all of you helped me choose:

Feeling fierce in my 4-inch champagne heels and in the company of some of the most important women in my life, the ensemble was at last complete.

Aruna took the opportunity to snap some photos just of me…

…while upstairs, Mr. Tartlet prepared to take his place for our first look.

Up next: our eyes meet for the first time this day!

*All photos by Aruna B. Photography

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