I recently turned 29, and I have to admit that - for weeks beforehand - I was really dreading it. 29: it just sounded SO old! Never mind that many of my friends have turned 29 (and older!) with grace and poise, I was just nervous about it. I mean, it’s only 365 days from 30 and I think we all feel a little wary of that big number, don’t we?
At any rate, as I was celebrating with my family the weekend before my big day I indulged in a bit of reflection. What was the big deal about 29? I figured out that it just sounded so much older than I feel. I definitely feel like I’m a lot wiser and more mature at 29 than I was at 28, but I’m just not ready to be quite so grown-up. So I did something I’d been thinking about since we found out we were having a Henry (as opposed to a Heidi): I got a tattoo!
If you had asked me 2 years ago, I would have told you I would NEVER get a tattoo. It’s not that I’m morally opposed or anything like that. I just couldn’t have imagined an image I would want on my body forever. I mean, I wear my wedding ring every single day, but even that comes off in the shower. But in the past 11 months I have been transformed into a new person. It’s not just that I gave birth and so I felt like I could handle the pain of the tattoo. Nope, it was more that. I feel so much love and joy on the inside that I wanted to have a physical reminder that I could look at any time. And even though it hurt (still not nearly as much as labor, obviously) and I’m certain it’ll be my only tattoo ever, I’m so glad I got it. My parents were less than delighted when they found out, but I didn’t do this for anyone but me. And maybe a little bit for Henry. So when he grows up he can see that my love for him is so overwhelming that I just couldn’t contain it in my heart. It had to spill over to my ankle.
No comments:
Post a Comment