I got a tattoo.
Not a little tattoo. It’s rather large and covers my upper right thigh. I love it.
A friend asked why? Why would 52 year old me want to get a tattoo? For me. Only for me. It wasn’t to prove that I could go through the pain. I’ve had two kids, I know pain. It was to commemorate this journey I’m on. Maybe even to assert that I do have control over my body, my life, if not my mind.
My teenage daughter was appalled by my behaviour. She also hates it when I swear. The night before I got the tattoo I thought I would tell her. All night all she could say was ‘No’. ‘No, no, no, no’. Every time she said it, I would collapse into hysterical laughter. For me, at least, it was a wonderful night.
My teenage son saw the tattoo after it was complete and was impressed. He was also relieved that I didn’t get a ‘tramp stamp’ – because while it is ok for his mom to get a tattoo, he still can’t see me as a sexual being. He commented that I must be going through a mid life crisis. No shit. I quit my corporate job, left my husband, sold my house… yep, kinda sounds life some sort of crisis or at least a realignment to me!
Yes, it is a tattoo of a tree. A tree of life goddess.