Bride Girls – A Poem

“When you were bride did you wear white?

Who picked out your dress? How did you know it was right?”

The questions came fast about ‘bride girls’ so named,

“Do they ever wear color? Do they all have long trains?”

“Brides can wear anything they choose for their day.

The rainbow’s their choice, their outfit their say.”

“Bride’s are pretty,” said Grace.

“They are happy,” said her sister.

And said I with a grin, “Cause they’re marrying their mister!”

To the stairs they ran fast, we were late for shoe shopping.

To the room where I sew they headed without stopping.

Grace came out with a ribbon placed atop of her head

Satin, ivory and long it trailed her up to her bed.

And she jumped up and down while Sophie implored,

“Get a clip! Get a clip from the hair dodad drawer!”

“On my head, on my head,” said Grace all a flutter.

“But first get dressed girls…

Norsdtrom waits! You are nutters!”

Once dressed and ready I took the clip,

Placed it tight on Grace’s head, let the ribbon fall and slip.

Down to the floor she walked like a bride,

Head held high to the store she would smile, we would ride.

She wore it on her head ’til her shoe love took hold.

The ribbon left crumpled, the Sketchers were sold.

The moment was gone they were making me crazy.

The memory of ‘bride girl’ soon would be hazy.

I’ve forgotten so much from timed feedings ’til now,

Will I miss it, these four year olds when that day comes around?

When they stand up the aisle with real veils to the ground,

Will I cry, will I laugh, will I feel hugely proud?

Said a lady in Whole Foods last week as she watched,

As I struggled and argued with the girls during lunch,

“It goes much too fast, time flies and you’ll see,

There will come a day when you’ll miss this terribly!”

So today as I watch, clean, cook, fold and we play,

From the mess to the laughs I’ll enjoy the array.

And despite my kerfuffle, my whining, my rants,

I know that I’m lucky to be wearing mommy pants.

One day they’ll be grown,

Strong, free, good and smart.

No one loves them like their mother,

Every inch of my heart.

Here comes the bride…

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