Tween in a Wedding Dress…
My wedding dress, to be precise. My sweet lovie has been asking to wear my wedding dress, ever since we got it back from my mom’s a few months back. It’s bulky and hot, and I didn’t want to get it dirty, and have to have it cleaned again. And on and on…
But today, she asked again, and, despite the migraine, something urged me to agree. So we curled her freshly trimmed, ready-for-school hair, and I told her how on her actual wedding day, I was going to remember this moment. I stood there with the hot iron, separating each piece of hair, twisting it ’round, head a dull ache, feet a bit sore, but heart so full it could burst.
She stepped hesitantly into my dress, with little bits of nervous commentary, and the giggles. How do I get in this thing, giggle, and whoa, this is heavy, giggle… I do that too, baby girl. Nervous chit chat is an inherited trait. You’re welcome. š
We zipped it up, and we tucked and pinned so it would look like it fit in the pictures. I showed her how to hold up the train, and gather the skirt with both hands so it wouldn’t drag. I wanted time to stop for just a second. I wanted to stare. Her face is that of an almost 12 year old, but in my dress, she looked like a woman.
Wasn’t ready for that.
But we fussed with her hair, and fluffed up the train, and I shot a few pictures. And then I told her to quickly change. You see.. Daddy was on his way home from work, with Brother. And the sight of his baby girl, in a wedding dress, would have been just too much for him.
If I never photograph another family, I will still always photograph mine. Time is fleeting, and memories are dear. And I want to remember the day she tried on my wedding gown, and smiled the whole time.
