The odd off note but we're still dancing anniversary waltz
It was quite a journey, says Aine O'Connor, looking back on the path to her 12th wedding anniversary
Sunday November 08 2009
THIS time 12 years ago, I woke in my parents' house. I'd gone to bed late the night before, having been over in my own house, packing and sorting, fielding phone calls from Beloved's friends telling me to hurry up and get out. When I got back to the ancestral home about 2am, Number One woke and I was too tired to argue the wisdom of sharing a single bed with the jujitsu champion that was my then 16-month-old son. He conked; I struggled to get comfortable until my father came in about seven and extracted the little beast.
Two hours later, I had to be woken from a deliciously deep sleep; the bridesmaids were downstairs. The house was full, no-one could work out how I had slept so late. Late? At that stage of my life I was so permanently exhausted I could sleep for days straight. I had a coffee then got navy polish on my hands and newly glued-on nails from polishing Number One's shoes.
The bridesmaids and I had to get to the hairdresser for our upstyling, but first I had to drop Number One to his childminder. She was bringing him to the wedding ceremony, but after that I wasn't going to see him for 10 days. When I cry, my eyes are replaced by puffy red slits. It's never a good look, but especially not in wedding photos left to posterity, so I did my best not to sniffle as I handed over my baby.
I ended up doing one of the bridesmaid's make-up, then the only stockings I could find looked like sports socks. Finally ready, and not even (that) late, we trooped our bridal way to the car. The neighbours were waiting with a bottle of champagne and best wishes -- nice touch.
En route, we had to divert to an underwear shop so one of the bridesmaids could do a mercy dash, flinging other shoppers out of the way with a cry of "Bride in need, bride in need" and buy me suitable stockings. Another of the bridesmaids had painted my toenails on the way in case we were looking at the bare-feet option, but stockings were found. All I had to do was get them on, under my wedding dress, in a full car.
We missed the gate so had to do a full lap of Trinity to make it to the church on time for 3pm. Ish. That was fortunate as it turned out because Beloved and his mates, having lain with courgette slices on their eyes because they couldn't find any cucumber, had gone bowling -- to kill time. Time that needed further killing with pre-wedding pints. My brother had a job persuading them that 2.55 was not in fact "plenty of time" for the last one. Had we not missed the gate, I'd have been there with no groom.
But we both got there, made the promises and had the party. And here we still are, officially above average because, apparently, 11 years is the average when people get the itch they scratch with a divorce lawyer. Twelve years have not flown by, we've come a long way and it has been touch and go at times.
Marriage isn't easy. I just reckon that as long as I still care enough to occasionally want to kill him but don't actually do it, we're on to something. It has definitely been worth it though.
- Aine O’Connor
Sunday Independent
