Wednesday, 17 October 2012

Tat's all, moms!

Since I knew they existed, I've wanted a tattoo. I love the idea of body art and expression. [Even if right now, I seem to be expressing my body's love of medium double doubles.]

A few years ago, after many years, pregnancies, and discussions with my husband, I finally took the plunge. I was ready. But what to get? And where?

I knew for sure I wasn't going to go for anything "girly". No roses on my ankle, or unicorn on my butt. Puh-lease. When I was a teenager I wanted a scorpion with its tail wrapping itself around my breast. Yeah...if I had gotten that, it would definitely be hidden now! So, what design did I want permanently inked on my body. I briefly considered getting my husband's name tattooed accross my back Black Dagger Brotherhood
style, but recalled that I was a sensible woman. What is the one constant that would never change. Ever. My kids. No contest. But how? Their faces? Names? Hand prints? I decided for a little whimsy that included my penchant for all things ladybug. Something that was uniquely mine, just like my little beasts.

Design: check.
Tattoo artist: check - one of my girlfriends had a trusted artist: Boris. I trusted my friend, and I liked that work she had done by him.
Body part: not so fast, Mama.

Where, where, where? My shoulder? No. Legs? Ridiculous. Face? Come on. I realized it needed to go on the trunk of my body. Somewhere I could see it and appreciate it, so not on my back or bum. Boobs? Absolutely not. That leaves only one area, my friends. Somewhere on my belly or hips. I figured, with such a wide expanse of canvas, surely there would be a few square inches to spare for a little art.

Picture this: I'm lying on the table in Boris' work room. My dress [don't wear a dress to get a tattoo on your abdomen - knowing is half the battle] is rucked up around my waist. Professional Dr. Boris [it helped me to imagine I was at the doctor and this was a routine shaming] is peering at my belly, poking and prodding and muttering things like "hmmmm...maybe it can fit many...this about..." and so on and so forth until I asked exactly what was going on. He told me he was trying to find the best place for my masterpiece. I pointed to an area near my left hip. He answered with a cryptic "Too many." Too many what?

Stretch marks. 

How ironic that I wanted a tattoo to represent my kids, but I couldn't get it because of the number of stretch marks acquired due to creating said kids. Did you know that you can't get a tat over stretch marks because the skin is too thin and will break? Neither did I.

Boris the Magnificent did find a place [gee, thanks] high up on my flank and all went well. It took about half an hour of pinching pain, but the result was exactly what I wanted.

My Tattoo [and stretch marks]

Two little ladybugs, with vines and tendrils that make up the years my bugs were born. Can you see it?

Do you have any body art? Are you given any flak about it?

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