So scandalous that when I first found out about my unexpected pregnancy last year, I immeditately threw myself in a wedding-planning frenzy. It didn’t matter I really hadn’t known Patrick well enough at that juncture to embark on “forever” with him; if getting married meant quelling all the looming gossip and speculation from my friends and family over the surprise baby, then sign me up. I’m all in.
Plus, I guess there was that giddy and naïve side to me that couldn’t believe my good fortune in being able to “have it all” in one go. Seemingly overnight, I was on the verge of being a wife AND a mother in a single year. Isn’t this what schoolgirl dreams are made of? A fairytale fantasy of bagging the bad boy and his baby in one fell swoop?
Except I should have known better. If it sounds too good to be true, it is. Always. Halfway through planning my shotgun wedding, things all sort of blew up in my face in an embarrassingly ugly debacle. Patrick and I tried to but ultimately couldn’t get married before King was born and months later I’m still trying to heal and figure out what truly happened in the midst of such pivotal life changes. If stories about forbidden love spiked with a couple extra shots of baby hormones are your thing, I’m writing it all down in The Making Of King.
So after the wedding was called off, I all but gave up on ever having that one day where I will be the ultimate princess decked out in my stunning lace gown and offwhite Louboutin shoes. My hair, meticulously shaped into a side-swept chignon, is magazine-ready as I march gracefully down the rose-petaled aisle. And my parents, one in each arm, walk me down proudly as they swallow bittersweet tears from finally having to let their little girl go. The string quartet plays a funky rendition of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” until I reach the alter where my dad gives Mr. Amazing my hand and reminds him, “Be good to her.”
Funny thing is after we called off the wedding and had our baby, Patrick is becoming my "Mr. Amazing." GASP I know, but better late than never. And I usually don't openly acknowledge my fondness of him on the days he wants to be sweet (since I pretend to be a cynical pessimist anyway. It's the writer in me) but maybe...maybe he will be the one for me. Maybe we are very good together in that forever sort of way. Maybe this is it.
But I had my chance at having a real wedding—you know, with bridesmaids, limos, and an open bar—and I am okay with never going back there again. Heck, I might even be okay with never marrying Patrick. After all, marriage is just a piece of paper, right?
“I really think Patrick and I have a shot at truly making things work,” I told a family friend last week. “I want a house, a future, and…more babies with him?”
“Do you think you will get married then?” she asked.
“No. Yes. I mean, we are practically an old married couple now so it wouldn’t really matter. Marriage is just a piece of paper. A wedding is just an expensive piece of paper.”
“But I think deep down, you would want a wedding still,” she prods.
“No, almost been there and done that. It won’t—it can’t—happen again,” I try to explain.
“You want a wedding and being married does mean something,” she says with a wink in her eye.
No, no you’re wrong. Everything with Patrick and me is finally almost all okay. We are happy and being married is not important to me anymore. Proclaiming our love and commitment to one another in a wedding ceremony is not necessary. Being married won't magically guarantee he will not let me down again or I will never hurt him. Because I will, and he will, and being married doesn’t change what we will do to each other anyway. It won’t and I don’t want it, I don’t, I...I do.