Richard noted, as we sat at the restaurant last night, fiddling with silverware and waiting for food to arrive, that it's now less than 72 hours. We've gone now from counting in days to hours, and somehow those few hours seem to be dragging slower than all the days beforehand.
Quite a few people have commented on how calm I am, and it's true. I'm amazingly calm. There are little things that aren't working out quite right, but I have rarely been the type to worry to the point of distraction over something over which I have no control.
The bakery called to say they didn't have heart-shaped pans? No problem - the cake layers will be round, and they'll draw hearts on top. Yes, I wanted heart shaped, but what difference does it really make in the long run? And I think it was because I was so calm and didn't raise a fuss that she also suggested a technique so that the top will look more like the picture mom and I found in a Wilton book so many months ago. It's going to be lovely no matter what the shape, and besides I have a feeling I will barely taste it anyway.
The photographer has this burning desire to take oodles of black and whites of things prior to the wedding - my shoes, my veil, the curl of my hair. My mother isn't the slightest bit interested, and I'm not seeing how I'll really want these, but at this stage my feeling is, if it makes the photographer happy, what can it hurt? She seems so darn excited about it - coming in garb and setting up her tripod in the back of the sanctuary so she can shoot even with just candlelight. The black and whites are not included in our package so it doesn't make much difference to me. It'll all work out, I keep telling my mom. No need to get so worried.
And there is, of course, the continuing saga of the seamstress. This poor woman has had more difficulties crop up in the past five months, all related to the making of the costumes for our entire bridal party. To her credit she's got them mostly done - the remaining outfits I don't have in hand only need small things like hems or a few final tucks and gathers. Her latest trial was to come down with strep throat earlier this week. We waited til the antibiotics kicked in after 24 hours, but I remember how wiped out strep makes you - the constant fever and no energy - and I wonder that she was able to do anything at all earlier this week. I suppose if things were perfect we would have had all our outfits a few weeks ago, but I'm still not worried. It will not surprise me if things are being finalized up to the moment we slip them on Saturday afternoon, but I am quite certain at this point that they'll be completed in time. And once again, if not, well, what can we do? If we're a little late to start because she's frantically finishing a hem, people will understand.
Later on, sitting on the sofa watching another episode of Red Dwarf, Richard turned to me and whispered "67 ½ hours left."
We're getting there. Slowly but surely, we're getting there.