Batshit Crazy

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.

That’s me.

 

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