The Stars are Blazing Like Rebel Diamonds Cut out of the Sun…
My stars are now blazing on my lower back. One for each boy.
One of these days I'll get a clear picture and I'll insert that here.
So, it’s probably too small to say they really blaze, but seriously, tattoos hurt. Big ones hurt more. Those people who say “it isn’t that bad” and “it goes numb after a while” are liars. Big, sadistic, ink-loving liars. Pain, however, is a relative matter, and so does pushing out ten pound babies with linebacker shoulders hurt.
So, on a particularly windy-cold March afternoon, my bff Monique, (names will not be changed, no one here is innocent) watched the children, as minors are not allowed in the tattoo shop. Which really is a brilliant marketing strategy, nothing being as attractive as the forbidden…. (I realize there are probably state laws involved, but that’s not nearly as exciting an explanation.) And I would be such a bad homeschool mom, because I really think it would be a great place for a first grade field trip.
And since Monique was with the kids, Amber, my twenty-two year old, heavily tattooed herself, coworker, sat next to me and distracted me. Amber is one of those “it doesn’t hurt that much” people. Amber has her children’s names tattooed across her wrists. I have no idea what she plans to do if she gets knocked up again.
Shane the tattoo guy was running late for our appointments, so while we were waiting we started reading the price list for piercings. Two things: 1. Piercings are expensive. 2. I haven’t heard of half the body parts on the piercing list. But I bet they’d hurt to pierce.
From here on out, it’s just like an episode of Miami Ink, only it cost less. We chatted. Shane drew. Then I straddled a chair, he put the stencil to my back and had me check the placement, and started in with the needle. Ouch. Word to the unblemished, should you ever decide to do this, bring an Amber. She sat in front of me and distracted me. And reminded me to breath. And just when it got really bad, she leaned over my shoulder to see how far along we were, and said, “Wow. You’re really fast!” Yay Amber! Yay fast Shane! The outline was finished, which was the more painful part. Start to finish, the actual needle part lasted forty-five minutes, tops. And now I have another brand of motherhood, as permanent as the stretch marks, but, you know, wanted.
One of these days I'll get a clear picture and I'll insert that here.
So, it’s probably too small to say they really blaze, but seriously, tattoos hurt. Big ones hurt more. Those people who say “it isn’t that bad” and “it goes numb after a while” are liars. Big, sadistic, ink-loving liars. Pain, however, is a relative matter, and so does pushing out ten pound babies with linebacker shoulders hurt.
So, on a particularly windy-cold March afternoon, my bff Monique, (names will not be changed, no one here is innocent) watched the children, as minors are not allowed in the tattoo shop. Which really is a brilliant marketing strategy, nothing being as attractive as the forbidden…. (I realize there are probably state laws involved, but that’s not nearly as exciting an explanation.) And I would be such a bad homeschool mom, because I really think it would be a great place for a first grade field trip.
And since Monique was with the kids, Amber, my twenty-two year old, heavily tattooed herself, coworker, sat next to me and distracted me. Amber is one of those “it doesn’t hurt that much” people. Amber has her children’s names tattooed across her wrists. I have no idea what she plans to do if she gets knocked up again.
Shane the tattoo guy was running late for our appointments, so while we were waiting we started reading the price list for piercings. Two things: 1. Piercings are expensive. 2. I haven’t heard of half the body parts on the piercing list. But I bet they’d hurt to pierce.
From here on out, it’s just like an episode of Miami Ink, only it cost less. We chatted. Shane drew. Then I straddled a chair, he put the stencil to my back and had me check the placement, and started in with the needle. Ouch. Word to the unblemished, should you ever decide to do this, bring an Amber. She sat in front of me and distracted me. And reminded me to breath. And just when it got really bad, she leaned over my shoulder to see how far along we were, and said, “Wow. You’re really fast!” Yay Amber! Yay fast Shane! The outline was finished, which was the more painful part. Start to finish, the actual needle part lasted forty-five minutes, tops. And now I have another brand of motherhood, as permanent as the stretch marks, but, you know, wanted.
posted by Momma Star at 9:12 AM
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