Six weeks . . .

When Paul put this ring on my finger (see picture below) my heart was ready to explode with joy and love.

Little did I know that in a year it would be my head that was ready to explode.

No matter how many people warn you, nothing prepares you for the stress involved in planning a wedding. For the last month I've asked myself daily why I didn't listen to the dozens of people, and I do mean dozens, who told me to elope.

In addition to how stressed I am feeling with having so much left to do in just six weeks, I'm filled with guilt.

Shouldn't I be beaming with excitement having only six weeks left? My face should be glowing in anticipation; white doves should be following me wherever I go emphasizing the blissful bride-to-be; and I should be fantasising about walking down the aisle in my beautiful wedding gown to the love of my life waiting to spend the rest of his life me.

Instead, I'm daydreaming about picking him up after work and getting married in my jeans and his work uniform at the closest courthouse. We of course would follow this with beers and pizza. The perfect reception.

My fiance the other day said to me, "I can't wait for this to be over so you're normal again." Broke my heart. Took everything in me not to cry.

And not to kill him since somehow my groom gets out of all the work.

After the silk flowers I ordered coming in the wrong color, my shoes ending up being too tall for my dress, a dozen of my guests waiting til the last second to turn in their RSVPs, and the numerous other little things not going as planned . . . my stress level has made me into someone I am not.

Although I'm pretty good at masking it to others, my fiance is the one who has seen me turn into this bridezilla from time to time. Of course there is no "groomzilla" term since they do very little of the work.