THE WEDDING

Philip and I recently returned from the destination wedding of his sister. The happy couple allotted three months to plan, and three weeks out from the big day, they fired their wedding planner. Friends and family, including yours truly, were enlisted to carry out the multitude of remaining tasks.

My duties included making all the hair and nail appointments for the bridal party, researching local attractions and adding them to the wedding website, decorating the DIY photo booth and providing props, and brainstorming/executing other fun activities for the cocktail hour, as there would be no actual cocktails.

Two weeks before the wedding, two other bridesmaids and I were also throwing a shower for the bride, so I was super-busy, scattered, stressed and frustrated — happy to help, but wishing I’d had more time and notice.

Adding to my to-do list was securing the various pieces of my elaborate and colorful bridesmaid getup. For the bolero, shoes, sash and dress, I made somewhere between six and 10 trips to David’s Bridal, I store I dislike even more than Walmart.

The wedding weekend was a giant flurry of activity. Guests were scattered among small inns and rental homes in rural northwestern South Carolina, and we spent the days leading up to the wedding driving to and fro handling last-minute assignments, as the nearest towns to the remote wedding site were 30 and 40 minutes away. And though the mountains are gorgeous, especially in the fall, there was no cell service or Wi-Fi, making communication very challenging.

In the end, my sister-in-law and her fiancé got married, and the ceremony and reception were perfectly lovely, and I think they had a wonderful time, which is what matters. The next day, Philip and I drove the eight hours home and breathed a deep sigh of relief that it was over.

But even though I was grumpy at times about this event taking over my life for several weeks, even though I was overwhelmed and anxious, there was one huge advantage to this wedding: It kept my mind off of infertility. Nothing in 18 months has so consumed my brain and shoved out my infertility obsessions like the shower and wedding did.

I’ve been home for one week now, and all I can think about is:

Am I pregnant? There’s no way I’m pregnant. I feel PMSy, which is a bad sign. And oh yeah, both of those pregnancy tests I took were negative. But there’s still a 14 percent chance they’re wrong. Plus, I bought them on clearance; maybe they’re defective. I should read some more articles about infertility. Maybe if I read all of these strangers’ infertility blogs, I’ll find a clue about how to stop thinking about fertility all the time. Because that makes sense. 

So anyway, am I pregnant? What if I were? I would be the wussiest infertile of all times because it only took two hCG treatment cycles. All the other infertiles would think I’m ridiculous. But I wouldn’t care; I’d be so happy, so relieved. How would I tell Philip? What would the look on his face be?! Wouldn’t it be so amazing for him to come home from this business trip, and I could surprise him with a photo of my positive pregnancy test! And then we could tell my family at Thanksgiving! They’d all be overjoyed! We’d all cry; we’d all be together. It would be wonderful!! [Heart swelling to bursting.] 

No. NO. STOP IT. There is a ZERO percent chance you are pregnant. You have cramps. You spotted a little yesterday. And listen here, you denial-having whackjob — that was NOT implantation bleeding. And you have taken two pregnancy tests that were absolutely, unequivocally negative. Do not get your hopes up, because you know what always happens — the harder you crash when your period finally comes. Etc. etc. etc.

So. The wedding spared me from all of THAT noise for a few precious weeks, and for that, I will be forever grateful to it.