The invite drops on your door mat and your thrilled to see you are invited to an impending wedding – you, your other half, and your beautiful little spawns – hurrah!
On one hand it’s a massive relief you won’t have to find childcare and your so thrilled the invitee welcomes them with open arms and on the other hand a small part of you dreads the task at hand of controlling two tiny dictator’s in a religious and formal establishment – It was an experience, I will say – and as we have many a wedding to go to this year, I would like to take the opportunity to share with you the knowledge and tips I have gained from our first mission that I would like to call, “Why the fuck didn’t we hire a babysitter”.
Step one – If you’re not religious, become religious.
Before the ceremony starts you recite a silent prayer to the man above asking for him to erase your toddler’s memory of any words not quite so Godly and plead with him that if he ever was to ever place tourette’s upon your child, could he please save it until after the vows.
The fear of 3 year old Spawny #1 would out my occasional “Jesus Christ!” outburst filled me with dread – can you imagine – “In the name of Jesus Chri…” – “Mummy! That man is saying your naughty words! Naughty man! Mummy, is he going to say shi…”
Thankfully, this situation never manifested itself and I believe it was due to my pleading prayer at the start. I not only attended a wedding, I also became a born again Christian. All hail Jesus.
Step two – Don’t be afraid of the walk of shame
It was inevitable that with two small children I would have to do the parent walk of shame atleast once throughout the day. 19 month old Spawny #2 is an absolute character – full of love for life with heaps of energy, I predict he will be completing marathons by aged 3. He’s a vocal chap too, and asking him to be silent is like asking me to stop drinking Prosecco at the reception – it’s not in our genetic makeup and we just can’t help ourselves.
Spawny #2 decided to get particularly noisey at the crucial moments – he was infact so noisey I’m not even sure if the Bride and Groom took any vows – rumour has it they left as man and wife but due to the carnage of restraining said child and humming him nursery rhymes to try and distract him to no avail, I had to walk THE walk – in absolutely ridiculous heels, may I add – and exit the church feeling like I had sinned from spawning 2015’s Damien Devil child as I passed the church committee on my way out. I missed the whole bloody thing but I heard it was beautiful – Congrats, guys!
P.s – Right hand side, 4th row from the front – that banana did belong to us. Forgive me, Father for I have sinned – my toddler rejected it mid service how you’ll probably reject me from church again due to my panic induced “hush the child” littering escapade.
Step three – Prosecco
You arrive at the reception and a small weight is lifted – the children are free to roam and play and…Oh my God, is that a river they could fall into?! You become anxious about the river – you alert and give permission all fellow guests to rugby tackle your spawns should they also see them approaching said river and down your first prosecco to take the edge of off your panic. Hic.
All is going swimmingly – thankfully that’s a terminology and not because your in the river wading children out – and you know Daddy has the eyes on the kids, so you help yourself to a few more glasses whilst “ching chinging” your way through conversations on current affairs and what not. Hic
This is going great! Your a social fecking butterfly!
Step four – More prosecco
Ok, ok. Feeling less of a butterfly now – more a rabid moth clinging on to any hope of dignity or turning the current situation around. Your other half has now taken full responsibility of both children and has left you to slide the slippery slope into the gutter. You know your whooping too loud at the speeches, your pretty sure you just dribbled on your dress and you have the alcohol munchies so bad you ate your portion of the high tea like a wild beast from a David Attenborough documentary. Yummy. I love food. I love wine. Where are the kids? Hic.
Step five – Put down the Prosecco
Alright. Stop now, you absolute twat. Your not the legend you think you are, that comment made to a victim of your current state was not as hilarious as you first thought and having your Father in Law lift you off the floor because “your shoes are too hard to walk in” is a pathetic excuse. Where are your beautiful children? Oh there they are – with their Daddy and their wonderful Uncle’s having the time of their little lives playing and being loved. You take a moment of reflection – you love them so much, so so much, you love the father of them so so much – just to clarify I mean the father of my children, not the father of their Daddy or their Uncle’s – we may be in rural Somerset, but that’s just not how I roll – you want to make a billion more babies so you can have hundreds more like the ones you are lovingly watching be little angels, you know it’s not the prosecco talking – this is real talk, man – so real you feel utterly compelled to rush over to the men in your life and make you love for them known – you start the bleary eyed journey over to them…and then your jam comes on. They are safe. Your on that dance floor quicker than you can say, “You drunken mess, come and dance”. You catch your other half sigh, relieved. You’ll get him later. Hic.
Step six – The final curtain
You’re done. It’s a miracle your still alive. Your darling better – much better – half has settled the little spawns to sleep in the car, lovingly wrapped them in blankets and they rest with the sweetest smiles on their little faces. It’s been fun letting your hair down, after all us Mum’s rarely get the opportunity and you feel you have made the most of it but it would have not been possible without having the most amazing Dad for your children by keeping them safe and loved whilst you abused your liver and the venue’s stock of the sacred fizzy. There’s only one way to show him your gratitude, and that’s to make him some rolls up from the feast of a Hog roast and deliver them to him as he waits for you in the car.
Cor, check out that succulent porky meat – hello, I am still on about the hog roast here – you ram the meat between a couple of baps – Yes, we are still on the hog roast – and wrap them in some napkins as a thankyou for being so lovely – after all, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
You say your goodbyes and stumble from marquee to garden to car park and then it happens – man down! Those bloody shoes! Only no one buys the shoe excuse anymore – pork has flown everywhere, your Father in Law may possibly vomit with repulsion at your state at any given moment so what do you do to save yourself?
Why, you scoop up all the pork, chuck it in the rolls and continue to the car to deliver the goods. Yummy.
You can’t even remember who you are, where you come from, or whether eating pork rolls seasoned by car park is a socially acceptable thing to do at all, but what you do know is when you stumble into the car, look at the sleeping spawns and the man in your life you absolutely know the meaning and sentiment of a wedding – it’s about love, family and making beautiful memories. It may be a stressful job – keeping them quiet and safe and you have a longer wait on your first sip of bubbly than your child free company, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’d still drink a shit load of prosecco though…