Big and bruised

Weddings tend to bring out the worst in me. Not emotionally. Physically. No matter how I plan, or how good my intentions, come the day of wedding (or sometimes the night before) something MAJOR happens to ruin everything.

I know, I know. It’s not my day – yet – it’s theirs. But I just don’t get why wardrobe malfunctions and bodily disorders need to play havoc with my fun?

In preparation for the wedding we attended in Auckland, and for my cousin’s wedding (this afternoon), I bought off eBay a stunning bright green Chloé number. It goes down as one of my all-time favourite online purchases, and yet to date, I’ve been unable to wear it. While it fit perfectly six months ago – when I was all trim from thrice-weekly Pilates sessions – by the time we got home from eating our way through the Middle East my body had morphed into a swollen version of itself. Like a balloon, I’d inflated. With most of the ‘air’ amassing in my boobs.

In NZ, I begrudgingly passed on Chloé for another number in my wardrobe, but I really had my heart set on donning the green for today’s celebrations. I’ve been running all week, drinking tons of water and even bought a new pair of suck-me-in, ugly-undies. Nothing’s worked. My boobs are still massive. And in the interest of decency I’ve had to once again pass Her over. I feel like I’ve let a good friend down.

To make up for my lack of wow-factor attire, I booked in a ludicrously expensive blow-dry (seriously, it was cheaper living in London) and forked out yet more cash on some L’Oreal Sublime Bronze tanning gel. All-bronzed-up, I got to bed early last night attempting to get some beauty sleep. Unfortunately my sister and two of her munchkins were bunking in with me – down from Port Macquarie for the wedding – so what should have been a restful evening turned into an evening of hell.

Baby Nine-Weeks farts and snorts louder than an overweight, middle-aged man – I’m talking constant squeaks and bubbles – and Master Almost-Two cried out for “Mumma” at least half a dozen times. My poor sister, yes; but whattabout me?

Halfway through the night I got up to go to the bathroom and blow my nose – hay fever still plaguing my sleep – only to walk head first into the closed bedroom door! Sister had closed the door earlier that night to help Baby sleep. The loud bang/crack of my nose on wood at 1am well and truly destroyed that plan. I cursed loudly, Sister jumped from bed, Baby cried, and Master Almost-Two wailed in with the best of them. I swear, it was the worst night sleep of my life.

So now I sit with tired eyes, awaiting my blow-dry; looking decidedly orange and sporting a swollen schnoz. Pollen is prevalent, my face is itchy and I still have to wear the suck-me-in, ugly-undies.

Lord, I wonder what will go wrong when it actually is, My Big Day?