The day I got married she was right beside me. When I went shopping for a house, she looked through it with me. When I found out I was pregnant, she got a picture of the pee stick moments after both those little lines appeared. She watched, coached, cheered, and photographed a human being coming out of me. She's always the first call I make in a crisis. She has been apart of many crazy moments in my life. The time I decided to perm my hair, that one time I got my contact stuck in my eye and had a panic attack, the time I thought Twilight was an awesome movie. So, it's only natural, that when I decided to get a tattoo, I dragged her along.
First of course, I talked to her about it endlessly. Made her help me print out the design I wanted and tape it to the spot I wanted so I could be sure.
And then today, we; two moms, pushing thirty, who work together at a small church; buttoned up our cardigans, slipped on our TOMs and drove in a mini van over to the tattoo parlor.
We sat on the little couch, while I filled out the paperwork.
C: "Are you really sure? Really really? Forever? This is what you want on you FOREVER?!?!"
A: "Eh, If I don't like it, I'll just get a big clover over it" (inside joke...only Kelli will understand)
C: "It's going to hurt so bad! Ah! Is that a skull?!? Are you really sure?!?!"
A: "I immediately regret bringing you."
C: watching other people get tattooed
A: "You might have to sit outside"
C: "You might be right. Ok, if you really want this, I'm totally here for you. I just want you to be sure. So one day you don't look back and yell at me for not stopping you."
A: "I'm all in baby."
It is nice to have someone along with you, especially during your first tattoo, so you can get pictures like this:
I feel very proud that I did not cry. Or puke. Or pass out. Or swear loudly. It wasn't that bad, and I now plan to get the rest of my body tattooed.
So here it is:
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