A week ago I celebrated my birthday by getting a tattoo. It wasn’t my first, and it won’t be my last, but it was by far the hardest for me to decide on.
It was the hardest because it’s been 6 years in the making, and will be a reminder of the hardest moment in my life… saying goodbye to my sweet Joey.
It had been a long time since my last tattoo, and even longer since I got my first one at 18. My first two are reminders of my youth, and were chosen based on being cute and pretty. I had very little regard back then for finding meaning in what I put on my body, and just thought it was cool to have a pretty butterfly on my lower back. (Hello, tramp stamp!!)
Then came college, and my roommate at the time wanted a tattoo. So I found some pretty flowers and got one too. On the front of my hip. Which is now destroyed by stretch marks after having babies.
Now I forever have a reminder of the baby I carried and held for a short time, but never took home. I will cherish it forever.
And now, I can move on to honoring my living children with their own tattoos, so they will have their own marks, just as thought out and individual to them.
I suppose waiting a while is a good thing- I’ve been able to get to know myself and my children more along the way, so that these permanent memories will have so much more meaning.