On March 6, 2010 at 10:45pm, I got my first tattoo. (& despite the post title, I promise I was not drunk)
The story really starts about five years ago, when I decided I wanted a tattoo. I wanted to be a rebel! I wanted to be a free spirit! I knew EXACTLY what I wanted – three stars on my neck, symbolizing my sorority’s ritual & the guide posts to how I live my life.
The problem? I was a wuss.
I was afraid of the pain. I was afraid of what people would say (especially The Momma). I was afraid of being “that girl” that impulsively etched permanent ink on her body at 19, only to regret it when she was 25. But on Saturday night, over a dinner celebrating two girlfriend’s birthdays, I realized that I am a different woman now.
Pain? HA! I’ve experienced childbirth. Impulsive? Hardly. Afraid of what people would say? That bird flew the window about 18 months ago when I began writing publicly. The Momma? Okay…that one’s still there. & she’s still a force to be reckoned with. But I’m almost 27. I’m married. I am a mother. & with everything spinning around in my life, it felt like a calling to have something etched on me that would always be there. A reminder of beauty, truth, character, & my faith.
I really wasn’t nervous. At all.
Okay, that’s a lie. I made Laura hold my hand. But this guy (bless his heart), was perfect for a tattoo virgin. He was funny. He was steady. & he gave direction. He also said that he doesn’t like to call ladies “tramps,” & so he prefers “California License Plate” when referring to lower back tribal tattoos.
& I think despite his sleeves of tattoos, he was kind of scared of the 5’1″ Laura. But I think he was also secretly thrilled at being piled in a room with six girls.
The sound of the needle is one of the most terrifying, irritating, & LIBERATING sounds known to mankind.
It really did not hurt. I promise. It was almost like a paperclip scratching behind my ear. & it took a grand total of 10 minutes. Maybe.
My first glance at the completed tat.
Holy hell. I’m inked?? ME?
Yep. Me.
