As Michelle mentioned, we were bridesmaids this last weekend for our friend T. The three of us were inseparable in college, and T was in both our weddings. There was no way we could miss hers.
But don't let our smiling faces fool you. Moms are not cut out to be bridesmaids.
The husband has a theory that newborns are like drunks, soused to the point of needing their stomachs pumped, completely incoherent and unable to perform the most basic of personal care. As babies age, they sober up. I laugh at the husband, but seriously, The Boy now -- with his impulsiveness, basic speech, still developing motor control and love of putting things on his head -- does bear a resemblance to his father during our drunken college days.
I bring this up only to explain that, as a mom, I'm kind of dealing with a drunk on a daily basis. But my drunk is cute and sometimes cuddly and shrunk to a manageable size. Full-size drunks just annoy me these days, and weddings tend to be full of drunks. In this particular wedding, the bride and groom rented a "party bus" so the entire wedding party and their guests could get lubricated before the reception. A lovely gesture, but one wasted on this nondrinking mom. Watching adults become full-size drunks on a "party bus" just isn't fun when you can't drink because Baby2 (aka Drunk2) is on the way. The third time one of the groomsmen offered me a beer, I actually weighed, for a moment, the amount of damage it might do to Baby2 against the improvement some alcohol might make in getting me through the three-hour bus tour. I decided one beer wasn't going to help.
Michelle was able to partake on the party bus, however, she and the other bridesmaids with children demonstrated the dangers of drinking and mothering. They all were lightweights.
We got on the bus about 2:30 p.m. By 2:45 p.m., Michelle was starting to slur a bit as she told me, "You have to stop me. I'm a mother." By 3 p.m., I was being offered my first beer and being assured drinking it would be fine by several people -- including a father who I know would have died if his wife, also a bridesmaid, had imbibed while she was pregnant. "My mom drank and I'm OK," he said. "My mom, too!" another bridesmaid chirped. By 3:15 p.m., Michelle was hugging on me like a lecherous high school boy and saying she needed to get out more. At 3:48 p.m., we passed a big, fancy brick McDonald's, and Michelle and the other mother bridesmaids were THRILLED and EXCITED when the bus stopped there for a pee break.
The best line came at 3:52 p.m. when the aforementioned father looked at his slightly tipsy wife and asked who was watching their 11-month-old son.
"I don't know!" she yelled. She shifted in her seat and her strap fell down her shoulder. "I feel like such a slut!"
We started the day at 8 a.m. for hair and make-up. We endured an outdoor ceremony in the rain. Our dresses were not designed for breastfeeding boobs or expanding baby bellies. By 9 p.m., just a couple songs into the reception, I was DONE. A late bedtime for me these days is 10 p.m. and we had an hour-drive home. I felt rude, but I had to say goodbye. I missed the garter and bouquet toss. I missed YMCA and the Chicken Dance. I missed the last dance. Michelle and her husband weren't far behind.
I'm not even 30, but I am, in fact, a matron. I am married. I have a child and another on the way. I love my friends, but I'm glad T is the last one who should need my services as a bridesmaid. There's a reason they're called MAIDS, not matrons.