I went to a wedding on the weekend. One of those beautiful, fun filled weddings where you can literally taste the joy in the air and the love of 2 people is so strong that it infects the crowd.
What a stunning day it was. Sunshine, romance, family and friends.
But lets get down to business. Lets be honest…. I’m pregnant….lets talk about the cake.
6 months ago a wedding was a very different sort of occasion for me. One which included some pre wedding champers, a bottle of sav blanc and traditionally, a hang over.
Nowadays, a wedding includes finding the right pair of shoes that wont see me spend the evening in tears, numerous questions about what exactly is contained in that little canapé and the unrelenting search for that non alcoholic drink that makes me feel a little bit special (so far soda and lime served in a wine glass is the front runner)… oh, and the cake. Don’t forget the cake.
The cake on the weekend was to die for. A little slice of chocolate and sponge heaven that literally changed my night.
Up until that point I had been all fake smiles and empty pleasantries. Well, to strangers anyway. I’m sure N would say I had been my usual, sarcastic, unrelentingly nitpicking self – a side effect of the inappropriate choice of shoe I made that morning and lack of pre reception champers no doubt.
But then, a delightful little Swedish waitress brought me a plate of wedding cake.
Gone was the pain of my bad footwear and the daydreaming about grabbing the glass of NZ Sav out of my mothers hands. I was in cake heaven. A place I didn’t even know existed until pregnancy. I was a changed woman.
What a simple pleasure. A simple but mood altering and eye opening pleasure.
It made me think….. (this was some pretty powerful cake!)
Social outings have always been a big part of my life. Its not just something that fills our weekends but it’s also a big part of my job. With that comes the standard consumption of a few Sav Blancs, a fabulous pair of heels and a spin on the dance floor. It is somewhat part of my identity.
So, when this baby decided to make a little home in my belly, I was decidedly nervous about the impending social silly season, glittered with countless wedding and party invitations and how exactly I would cope with a whole new set of rules. It wasn’t like I felt like I needed a drink. I just felt that without it, things wouldn’t be as fun as they usually are. This weekend, those illusions were shattered.
I stayed until closing.
I danced to Gangnam Style (sorry babe)
I’m pretty sure a 23 year old chatted me up.
Not bad for a very sober, sore footed pregnant chick.
Told you it was powerful cake.
I have another wedding to go to this weekend. Sure to be just as love filled and joyous as the one just passed. I’m destined to be just as sober and my footwear is going to be just as inappropriate. But this time, my attitude will be different.
I’ve learnt that I am just as much fun with a baby in my belly. I’m just as good on the dance floor and apparently just as chat up-able for the odd 23 year old. I don’t need the pre reception champers or the NZ sav to have a good time. Just a few soda and limes, a friendly waitress and of course, cake.
Don’t forget the cake.