This weekend, WG and I set the date, and we're very excited, but mostly relieved that we can tell friends and family where and when we're getting hitched.
People have seemed astonished that we were able to set a date within three weeks of getting engaged, but we're ready. Plus, we know that we want to get married this summer, which means that we needed to get to work, folks. I'm actually really proud of us for finding a place, getting my parents to see it (the people who write the checks SHOULD have some say, right?) and then signing all the paperwork.
It's real, everybody.
I have a wedding party, a wedding date, a wedding location...
My officiant fell through, though, as the archaic rules of the Catholic Church will not let him officiate the wedding of a Catholic (that would be me) outside of a church. And, since we're getting married outdoors and totally not at a church, this means that we're in search of an officiant. One item checked off the list (location), and another that just got added...
It's not all about the sparkly diamonds, or the centerpieces or even about the dress, this wedding is about saying out loud and in front of our loved ones that we're going to stick it out through thick and thin.
And I truly feel like "for better or worse," or, at least "in sickness and in health" has already started.
On Monday evening, WG told me that he'd found a pimple-sized cyst on his body. On Tuesday, the doctor called it an infection and sent WG on his way with some antibiotics. By Wednesday, the cyst was the size of a fingerling potato (look it up, I dare you). And on Thursday, he was resting on my couch, pumped through with vicodin after having the cyst removed.
This relationship is about so much more than diamonds.