wedding Dress Shopping

Recently, Wife took #10 out with her to go wedding dress shopping for my sister. The party was made up of five sisters, my mother, and #10. A fun group of women and girls, traipsing from dress shop to dress shop, not like hunters on the prowl, but more like butterflies, flitting from pretty thing to pretty thing, wondering if the wind might guide them to the perfect blossom. All the while, the baby held on like a little chimp, not sure what all the fuss was about.

Oh, shopping is fun.

Oh, shopping is fun.

Throughout the day #10 was passed from aunt to aunt to grandmother to aunt, so she should have been as happy as a puppy, receiving all that attention. And with the constant change of scenery, there should have been enough to occupy her senses like a bloodhound at the Thanksgiving Day meal. But #10 was not so easily distracted. When she had decided to go home, she let the party know at once.

You see, #10 it seems, has very little patience for fashion. As her aunt traipsed out time and time again, wearing one dress and then another, #10 lost interest. If she could have been understood, they would have heard her whining, “Just pick one already… you’ve tried on soooo many. Isn’t that enough?” and she was passed to another aunt.

It truly was a good thing #10 was not understandable. As they left one shop, because the last dress was going to be too expensive to alter, the baby complained that it was time to go home for lunch. She liked to eat her meals in the bedroom where she could have her mother all to herself. To her dismay, the van drove in the wrong direction.

At this point of the story, it is best not to attempt a guess at what #10 was howling. A baby’s angry language is not exactly translatable, but it was not hard to discern that what she was shouting was very rude.

I must confess, in all the adventures of Wedding-Dress-Shopping, I felt sorry for Wife. When #10 is happy, you have never seen a happier baby. But when she is mad, well, we have a regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on our hands. After about half way through the day, #10 would not be held by her grandmother or any aunt.

But, Wife would not let our little girl force her off the shopping trail. She had waited nearly thirteen years for a sibling of ours to get engaged, and was not about to be cheated out of the experience by anyone, not even the baby. If there is one thing Wife can handle, it is her children.

I want to go home

I want to go home

#10 sulkily held onto her mother for the next four or five hours until my sister did find the dress she did not know she was looking for. There was much screaming of excitement. #10 screamed just to make sure she was not forgotten.

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