february is anniversary time and all the other lovey things…

And what a sentimental month it always is — this year is no exception!  My-o-my… our Hannah came home, our Timothy came home… Kathryn prepared a lovely breakfast for us… we celebrated at Harrison Hot Springs in Canada and we’re celebrating every day we’ve shared together.  And now… we’re watching the children go in many different directions… no, no weeping over an empty nest (it will likely never happen ~wink!~) but perhaps weeping over the empty womb.
But you know what I keep thinking about?

Yes.  That I cannot fit into my wedding dress.  Isn’t that crazy?  I do not weigh the less than one-hundred-and-twenty pounds I weighed 29 years ago.  One would think that if I think about something so consistently, I would do something about it.   But I didn’t.  And I don’t. And maybe tomorrow I won’t, either.  But you know what? One of these days I will get back on track and do something about it… you know… another go-around on the umpteenth and one diet.
When Hannah was twelve years old, she put on my wedding dress and it fit her.  I wasn’t much older, I suppose, when I wore it in 1978.  ~wink~  It was a Gunne Sax style dress that I made… and it was probably a combination of two or three patterns so that I could accomplish the look I was wanting for the wedding dress.

One thing I’m always glad about:  I’ve never regretted the wedding dress.  Or the pictures. I sure don’t regret the style or that I didn’t look all chic or that I didn’t go for the glamour dress or the dress that needed constant ‘babysitting’ to keep it up.  And wow, I don’t even regret it was a size 5.  I do regret, however, that I am not.  And yes, it was twenty-nine years ago.  And yes, it was eleven children ago.  And yes, it was three grandchildren ago.  And yes, it was… yada, yada, yada… but you know, that doesn’t matter to me today… what matters is that I cannot wear it.  Most things I cannot wear, or consistently cannot wear, I do not keep.  Why would I?  But that dress… that dress is the measure for me.  It’s the measure of what was and what ought to be.

So… I keep it.  Yes, it’s a guilt trap trip, but it’s also a picture for me of the little girl who said, “I do,” twenty nine years ago… she’s not the same little girl anymore—not the same on so many levels.

But she sure dreams of the day when she’ll don the dress and stand before her groom… still saying, I do.