Author’s note: I wrote this post over a year ago and am now on the cusp of inking my third, fourth and fifth tattoos! Finally! And bringing Julie Nowell with me??
A long time ago I was sitting with my kids at an indoor playcentre on the North Shore and I watched another mum chatting away with her friend. This mum at first glance looked like any other mom, requisite cargos and cardi with flip flops, hair cut in a lovely shoulder length bob. That is until she took off her sweater. She had a full SLEEVE of tattoos on her arm. I was shocked at first, then curious, then really impressed. It was obvious that her tattoos had great meaning to her, and they were beautifully done.
My mother will likely shudder in horror when she reads this article and so will many other mothers of daughters who pray to the Gods of “Please don’t let my child ever do that” on a nightly basis. Well, sorry Mom, this mama’s got ink. That is, I have tattoos. Yes, plural, and I don’t intend to stop at two. I find tattoos to be a very personal, very permanent way for me to honor some very major milestones and important people in my life.
The first tattoo I got was on my 30th birthday (and also to celebrate a major athletic achievement), a major milestone in itself and although I regret what I had tattooed (only because it doesn’t really symbolize why I got it – ie. a world championship), I don’t regret marking the milestone with it. My second is a tribute to my amazing family – I have everyone’s first initial inscribed on my left forearm, close to my heart.
So the next time you see a mama with ink, ask her about it, I bet she has some amazing stories to tell!