Last November, while visiting Spawn #1 in Wisconsin, she said something to me that I will never forget. It went something like this:
Spawn #1: Hey, mom…I was thinking that maybe we should get tattoos together.
Me (mouth agape): Really? You’d want to do that with me?
It was as if she had bequeathed me with a crown and a sash emblazoned with “Coolest Mom Ever”. I was gobsmacked. Honored. Dumbfounded. All at once.
The child who gave me grief from approximately 2005 through 2012, and after whom several of my gray hairs are named, actually likes me. You’ve no idea the confidence boost this gave me.
I have no tattoos. At least not yet.
It’s not like I have anything against tattoos. Especially on other people. Except I think it’s a little weird to see a large tattoo on someone’s body depicting a picture of their children as babies, complete with their names and dates of birth. Or when people have tattoos on their faces. I think those are especially spooky. But that’s just my personal opinion.
Discussing the possibility of me getting matching tattoos with Spawn #1 with Hubs has been interesting. He jokingly made a comment about anti-tattoo sentiments found in the Bible. Something about “graven images”. He also stated that he’d prefer not to see the mother-daughter tattoo on me when he takes me to “Funkytown” (wink wink). I really can’t blame him for that. It could be a buzzkill.
So that just means if we are to get matching mother-daughter tattoos, at least for me, placement is going to be key. Perhaps on my ankle. Or on the inside of my wrist. Either way, I don’t know that I can resist the honor my daughter has given me by coming up with this sweet notion.
In fact, Spawn #2 may want to join in. That would make it all the more special, right? They almost got a tattoo a few years ago, upon their 18th birthday. My in-laws were visiting from out of state. My mother in law, being the progressive, open-minded jewel of a woman she is, wanted to join us in our first foray into a tattoo shop. The “waiting room” consisted of a black leather couch and a couple of chairs with a coffee table centered in between. Their was a plethora of nudie and tattoo fetish type publications which MIL, to our amusement, peered through.
Spawn #2 was extraordinarily nervous, but determined. Part of their reasoning for getting ink that day was to prove to themselves that they had overcome their fear of needles, which had plagued them since elementary school. I was proud of them for doing this.
In the end, however, Spawn #2 chickened out. They came out of the backroom, weeping and tattoo-less. Nonetheless, I was a proud mom. I told them that it was okay, they have all the time in the world to get a tattoo. They showed bravery and determination by getting as far as they did that day. And after all, it was just a tattoo. It wasn’t like it was a shot of an antidote that was going to save their lives, for Pete’s Sake.
So maybe 2017 is going to be the year that the women of our little family get some ink. Both Spawn #1 and #2, along with the cutest and smartest and bestest 3 year old on the planet will be coming to visit us in Colorado next month after all.
This could be perfect timing.