It was my ten-year anniversary today, so I tried on my wedding dress. I had it preserved a few months after the wedding, so even though I’ve seen it in its display box every day, I haven’t physically touched it in almost a decade. As I ran my fingers over the ivory silk sash, the tingle of nervous wedding-day excitement returned to me. The tiny beads on the edge of the veil brushing my cheek gave me butterflies. The swish of the hem made me feel like dancing.

I stepped into the dress, holding it up against my chest, because I’d forgotten that I needed another person to lace me up in the back. The weight of all that chiffon, satin and silk grounded me. I slid the comb of the veil into my (much shorter) hair and processed down the hallway of our house. My two children tried to romp around me, but the train of the dress was longer than I’d remembered, and they had to be careful not to step on it. A funny realization hit me: I was taking up more space than usual.

It made me wonder if one reason girls dream of being brides is because a bride is entitled to take up space– with her dress, her veil, her inner glow. For one day, a bride is exalted to the highest status. She is the queen of her world. It’s not a feeling most young women often have, but it’s a feeling we all crave.

My wedding day was the first time I’d ever felt like the queen of my world. But it wasn’t the last. Three and a half years later, the first time my baby boy looked up at me with loving, trusting eyes, I felt like a queen again. And this time, the only space I needed was the distance between his heart and mine.