The only difference between a tattooed person and a person who isn’t tattooed is that a tattooed person doesn’t care if you’re tattooed or not. ~Anonymous
It is funny what happens when you see someone with a tattoo. Some people love them and some people hate them. It certainly separates the crowd into us and them. An us and them that I have always tried to resist. Because honestly I never fit in totally with the us nor the them. I am kind of just me and the older I get the more comfortable I am with that.
In becoming comfortable in who I am I have had a longing or want for a tattoo. I remember when I first started dating my guy and early on making our way to a tattoo parlor where I proceeded to chicken out after it was my turn. It was always something I regretted. But I honestly was not ready and I am so glad I waited.
Since I have had Annabelle I had an idea in my mind that I would be tattooed. I didn’t know when but I knew it would happen and I knew what I wanted. I wish I could say it was some deep spiritual reasoning or I am just gonna be a tatted up girl. Both of which aren’t the case. It was pretty simple. I wanted to mark a significant change in my life.
I have spent the last 11 years of my life dedicated to my three A’s. I have carried of them the best I could, I have nursed and feed them the best my body could. I have been a stay at home mom and been there for each of their early year firsts as much as I could. None of those sacrifices are going to change and I will continue doing the best I can as their mother. As a mother, I will continue on as I always have. But this tattoo was my way of paying tribute to what I have done within my own body and taking my claim to it back. Nothing about this tattoo is about anything other than the parent child bond that was created when I was pregnant with each of them. And the pure love and joy I had for caring for each of them once they were born and stood in amazement of what my body was able to accomplish each time.
To mark this change I got my version of A cubed to represent each of my A named daughters. It is the letter “a” with a square around it. And yes I know mathematically the cubed means a cube but a cube was not near as artistic as I was hoping for so it was a square. I love it and I am so glad I did it. Even better my guy, my very best friend in the whole world and her guy were right there with me. It was a rite of passage for me and the first people I wanted to show were my girls.
This will be my one and only tattoo. I was so nervous to get it because it is so outside of the box for me and I was worried what others would think of me. Then I got over it. This isn’t about flaunting a gang symbol or some fancy saying that is deep and I am not getting a full body armor of tattoos (not that there is anything wrong with those things) They just aren’t me. This was about my girls. Now I believe I have firmly landed myself right in the middle of us and them. It is a little place called just being Shannon, the mom to my three beautiful girls and the wife to my guy who I love so much for giving me them and making us a happy little family and who loves my tattoo and accepts me for who I am.
And for the nitty gritty…it did hurt. The most painful part was the bone part. But it was nothing compared to the pain of having my girls. It was nothing because it was less than 10 minutes and it was nothing because I had tremendous amount of support around me and that meant more to me than any little tattoo needle. It was cheap. And I did let my parents know to give them warning, not really asking for permission, but to let them know I was defacing what they created. Once they knew the reasoning they were excited to see the end result. And I can hide it easily with clothes or a watch. So I got a tattoo in my style.