The Child Bride

By COURTNEY CARLSON

For the past eight months I have ceased to be my parents' daughter. I am known simply as the bride. My new title brings with it some interesting contradictions. Having made a major decision about the course of the rest of my life, I am an adult, and yet this process catapults me back to childhood. After a good five years of being on my own, I find that I have to plead my case with my parents about even the smallest of details. Who knew each of my parents and I would have a strong opinion about which musical instrument should be playing during the procession? Me, trumpet; Mom, flute; Dad, violin.

I am thrown back to the days of negotiating for a later curfew when my mother pronounces that my groom David and I should make an early grand exit from the wedding. We suggest we just might want to stay out late at our wedding and have fun with our friends. Six months ago my mother and I rehashed a seventh-grade Guess jeans drama when I assured her that all brides are wearing strapless dresses and it is not inappropriate. I actually seem to be getting worse at this. The outcomes? In 1986, age 12, yes to the jeans. In 2001, age 26, no to the strapless dress.

As the only child of divorced parents, I have always dreaded my parents' being in the same room, not because they fight but because I have learned to deal with them independently, and I prefer the simplicity of that arrangement. I like them to keep their distance. Well, so much for that. The two of them are now as thick as thieves, e-mailing guest lists, announcements, sample menus, rendering useless my usual role as go-between. I'm a little confused. Are they getting friendly for the sake of their child, or have they grown up too?

The invitation list, to no one's surprise, has been the greatest source of difficulty. I wanted a small wedding, and so did everyone else--in theory. But when you divide a small list into six portions, as we did, the parcels become unbearably tiny. David and I each had a list, and then the two of us had a sublist of mutual friends each felt should be included in the other's count. My separate parents each had a separate list. Then, in the greatest irony of the wedding, familial functionality turned out to be a detriment for David's happily married parents, because they only got one list between them.

There is a theory that no wedding is complete without one massive family fight, preferably one that exhumes old slights, hurts and differences. That gives us something to strive for in the next two weeks. In the meantime, my plan is to keep everyone busy. I deployed my dad to review photographers and find chamber music. My mom is arranging flowers and baking bread for the reception. I am overseeing the food, as I look forward, after five months of austerity, to finally being able to eat once I get the dress on. David, relieved that I have stopped cutting his list, is writing the ceremony. So far, the scheme is working, giving me the odd sensation that as the bride I've actually found a footing somewhere between self-absorbed teenager and budding adult. I have also learned that the purpose of weddings, aside from the obvious one, is to reconnect you with the family you have and prepare you for the one you hope to produce yourself.

To weigh in on weddings, you can e-mail Courtney at [email protected]