When I was growing up my mom always told me that I could be and do anything.

I believed it then like I believe it now except that there seems to have been an exception that she omitted- though in her defense, it was unforeseeable that I would one day have to commit to this kind of project.

It seems as though I am physically and psychologically unable to plan a wedding.

Contrary to popular belief, I have only been to 3 weddings in my life: My brother’s, my sister’s, and my friend Gabby’s.  I have been invited to a gazillion of them, and have a box full of invitations to prove it, but despite my best intentions I never quite made it to any of them so I know very little about what makes a successful wedding.

To be completely honest, I have always hated weddings.  I have found myself getting frustrated and angry at the mere proposition that someone would choose to make so many big promises knowing that forever is a REALLY long time.  The idea that someone would willingly give up being a whole person to become part of a unit really was offensive to me.

Not to mention the logistical nightmare that is to plan a wedding. Spending months looking for ways to spend obscene amounts of money just so there will be a bunch of drunk, over-stuffed people in pretty pictures, seemed absolutely ridiculous to me.

And now, here I am.

Because the more I resist something, the more inclined life feels to make me eat my words.  I guess this is why people say “never say never” and it is a lesson that has taken me a while to learn.

But I did it. I managed to fall in love with someone so deeply that when he did ask if I wanted to get married, it was easy to say yes (albeit I was under the influence).  We also managed to pick a date that is now 50 days away, and decided we would celebrate our union with far less people than we would like but more than we know how to handle.  I even began to worry about what to feed the people who will be in the pretty pictures…

In the process, I even let myself feel happy about everything and it felt like something I had never experienced.  At first it felt alien, but then it engulfed me in such a way that I felt as though I nearly cheated myself out of something amazing by simply not wanting it. This is a unit where I feel we belong and doesn’t come to odds with either of us being a whole person.

…and surprisingly enough, even though I thought that making certain decisions and allowing myself to enjoy them would be “the hard part” of this whole marrying business, it turns out that it wasn’t. The “hard part” is all in the details.  Because a wedding is like a Monet: from afar it looks like something but it takes a gazillion little strokes, each representing a specific decision, to get the thing to work.  And it isn’t just about the logistics, but about the emotional toll it takes on everyone involved.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it.

My life has become a mess of spreadsheets and endless glasses of diet coke because, as if I didn’t have enough on my plate (no pun intended), I also have to worry about my weight. Long gone are the days when I could unwind with a glass of wine or make myself feel better about life by eating a piece of chocolate.  Now I eat too little and smoke too much.

(Needless to say, I’d be one cranky bitch if it weren’t for twice a day snuggles)

Still, things are coming along  and every time I see a result whether it is losing a pound or giving a final approval, it gets a little easier to carry on with the rest. I worry a lot about everything being perfect, but even if it isn’t, at least for Hugh and I, it will be amazing.

On April 6 we will make a vow in front of God, our families, and each other that we will be together forever.  That will be the celebration of a marriage.  Our marriage.  And he asked me to have a marriage not a wedding.  Regardless of how the wedding turns out, it will only be successful if we have a successful marriage.

I will obviously continue to try to have a perfect wedding, but the fact is that I look forward to making the assessment on my death bed.