One of the many wonderful thing about weddings is that eventually almost everyone gets lucky enough to have one. But at the same time, when you are engaged the entire world does its best to treat you like the first to accomplish such a tremendous, magical feat. Drama queens, wallflowers and all the types in between are showered with attention and flattery, and suddenly "congratulations" takes on a heightened meaning. We all enjoy it in our own way, but sometimes I feel like all brides must go through some of the same feelings.

   It's a big, fat cliché, for example, to say that the engagement flew by too fast. But it's what always comes to mind first when I think about it - that, and the fact that I never got used to calling Jake "my fiancé." The phrase "my husband" sounds a lot better to me. It's much more solid and permanent. I can't wait to use it for the first time. In less than a month, we'll be a family.

   These last few days, as the response cards begin to filter in, I've been experiencing alternating waves of emotion. First, sheer giddiness, then worry that I won't have time to savor every last moment of fun. How will I ever contemplate every heart-stirring second, talk to every friend and taste every passed appetizer, all while trying to remain focused on the reason I'm there - my unflagging devotion to Jake?

   These little frets are now also accompanied by short blasts of nervousness. I'll be driving home from work or changing over the laundry and the lining in my stomach will do a full, backward rotation. I wasn't even thinking about the wedding! I'll say to myself. Maybe not, but it's in there somewhere, having a gay old time. I wonder if I'll be shiny and composed or a tearful wreck on W-day. Either way, I know I'll be thrilled.

   Some friends gave us an 8-year-old Bonsai tree in a little pot as an engagement gift. These things are extremely fragile, they explained. We have to water it two or three times a day, move it in and out of the night air, give it a name and talk sweetly to it in the morning. It could turn yellow and die if we're not careful. It hadn't occurred to me that there was a lesson in this gift until I had a dream that I left the little guy outside in a thunderstorm.

   Not that I'm careless with the precious things in my life, but here was a reminder that even things that can last a lifetime must be looked after and cared for everyday. I'm about to get swept up in a whirlwind of excitement that ends with a vast span of responsibility and commitment. Whew, that sounds serious, but I think I'm up for it. In fact, I can't wait.

   The next time you hear from me, I'll be married. Wish me luck.