Tattoo Time

I took my 18 year old daughter to the tattoo parlour - that sounds so old fashioned but I love it. We decided ages ago that the year she was old enough and I was old enough to know better, that we would go together and get inked - now that sounds too modern. I am 50 in a few weeks, so this was our mother-daughter big birthday celebration/mid-life crisis.

I said I would go first, thinking I was being brave and laid down on the couch (after taking a paracetomol to help numb the impending pain). As the tattoo artist's needle descended, my body tensed and my shoulders were stiff up around my ears. He paused for a while and then continued. I can definitely liken it to giving birth - contractions of pain, followed by brief moments of respite. This continued for an hour. I looked down to see the outline of the strawberry I had asked for and then decided I didn't want it to be coloured in after all - I did but wanted the pain to end more. I was told it would look much better in colour and not to worry as it would all be over soon. This time, I took deep breaths as if I was actually giving birth, which helped my body to relax and the hurting to lessen. Half an hour later, it was all over and I shakily stood up in relief, while some clingfilm was taped over my newborn. After a five minute break in the fresh air, finally able to remove my face mask, I gulped deep breaths like I was glugging a drink of refreshing ice cold water (so dramatic).

Next it was my daughter's turn. Martha hopped up on to the bed and the artist got to work on her design. She lay there, still and relaxed, occasionally glancing at her phone or closing her eyes, apparently dozing. She didn't even need to hold my hand (not like when it was my turn - I clutched her wrist for dear life because she doesn't like holding hands). I couldn't believe it. There was me going first to lead the way, when it turned out that it was her who was the brave one. She didn't flinch at all and afterwards, said it was like a feather brushing her skin. If she ever gives birth, she will find it a breeze. Martha was pleased with her Betty Boop and had hers safely covered too.

I am afraid I am going to have to go back to have another one. Not because I am now addicted to the repetitive sting of an inky needle, but as I've now had a strawberry one to signify Martha (her nickname as a baby), I need to get a bee to signify my older daughter, Ruby. I asked if Ruby could be my strawberry flower instead but I think I'm going to have to brave it.