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 there....no...too many...this might...no....what 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]
Do you have any body art? Are you given any flak about it?
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