Dove Tattoo

I wanted something girly. Not colored in. Not too big. Something I could cover up with clothes if I had to. Most importantly, I wanted something that MEANT something to me. Something that represented my faith in Jesus Christ and something that might spark a conversation with someone else who might comment on it.

I have been looking for at least six months, knowing this was my final destination...my reward for hard work and depriving myself, for the most part, of sugar, cake, bread (even the homemade kind!). Pretty much the stuff I love to eat WAY too much of. The stuff that likes to stick around on my body WAY too much. And when I started Insanity...the final ten pounds just melted off my body. Like pouring peanut butter out of a jar. I don't know if you know this, but peanut butter doesn't POUR. It was HARD work and infuriating. But worth it.

So...back to the tattoo.

Some looked more realistic:

Some looked abstract:


Some were like Picasso:


Some did the symbolic olive branch from the Noahs' Ark story in the Bible:


Some....well...weren't doves:


But mine...I knew it when I saw it and it was confirmed with Brooke going "Oh, get that one!!!!" It was a spur of the moment decision to get it THAT day. I was content to wait for another two weeks (cause really..I was scared), but then my cheerleader and confidence booster (read: Brooke) wasn't going to be available. I wanted her to hold my hand, tell me how tough I was and basically, not let me chicken out. She called the parlor. Yeah, that's how chicken I was. It was 6:30 at night. Were they REALLY still going to be open? Yeah. They were. Who knew, but apparently, tattoo parlors keep late hours. Huh. They were open until midnight. Nic said I could go.

We had plenty of time. For me to pee my pants. And no excuses. No real ones, anyway.

We stopped at my moms to pick up the kiddos from their overnight stay where she ended up cleaning up urine for two days. Fun for her....relaxing for me to let someone else do it for a while! Thanks, Mom! (and Dad!)

I told my mom what we were doing. She was very supportive. Very. Did I mention she wants a tattoo? I'm pretty sure she was waiting for me to get one so I could relay exactly how much pain you endure before she bit the bullet. It's alright Mom, I'll take one for the team.

Took the kiddos home and dropped them off with Nic. Headed out to our adventure. At this point, my stomach is getting that nervous gurgle going on.

Thankfully, they take your money before you get the tattoo. Once I had paid, it was a done deal. I'd rather keep something that kind of doesn't work the way I thought it would than go through the pain of returning it to the store. I paid. I was getting what I paid for.

After I watched Brooke let the piercing lady drive a stake through her nose, dangle a cork on the end of it and stick a light blue rhinestone stud through the hole, it was my turn. By the way...Brooke has a nose piercing now. She's adorable. I wish I had a picture to show you. It's funny how it fits her face.

My tattoo artist was VERY nice and Brooke and I decided he had a sad quality about him that has kept him in my prayers since I've been there. Is that odd? I can't help it. Some people I meet make profound impacts on me in very short periods of time and I can't get them out of my head. I know the best thing I can do for them is pray for them...so I do.

Sad Guy asked me if it was my first time. Yeah. *Blush*

Then he said, "It feels like a cat scratch, but it's not constant because I have to get more ink periodically, so you get a break."

Cat scratch. Ok. I can do that. I've had those before. But this time I couldn't curse the "cat" giving it to me. I was the cat. And Sad Guy was my claw.

Cue disinfectant. Antiseptic. Carbon copy of my tattoo. Cue LOUD NOISE!!!! What the heck is THAT?!!!

"Oh, yeah. Don't let the sound scare you. They are kind of loud."

By 'they' he means the machine that works the needle. It's loud. Thankfully, it's bark is REALLY worse than it's bite.

Ten minutes later (yes TEN MINUTES) and I was checking out my new tat in their mirror. My cheerleader was chanting "You're awesome! You're tough! You're awesome!" Gorsh...thanks.

Yes, we probably are going through some kind of "Mommy mid-life crisis." At least what we're doing isn't permanent. Ok, so mine is. Eh. Like my brother in law would say, "Our body's are perishing anyway." Sometimes, I really love his logic.

And now I feel like the biggest weenie because it really wasn't a huge deal. Small price of minimal pain for something I've wanted to do my whole life. Done. Where's that bucket list???

And here it is:


A dove. The Holy Spirit that lives within me, now also is pictured ON me. Tattoo-style.

Noah thinks it's a bald eagle. Humph. I'm pretty sure I could have gotten a picture of a flower and he would have said it was a bald eagle. Stinker. But I love him.

And then, he promptly asked when he gets to have a tattoo that will never go away. I told him when hell freezes over like any good mom would. Naw...just kiddin'.

Nic has been amazing helping me clean it, put creme on it, stalk it...'cause he really LOVES it and has to stop himself from touching it. I love that man.

It's really not sore. Luke touched it and Nic just about made us all jump out of our skin when he yelled at him to not do it, but the actual touch didn't hurt at all. My little Luke. He has to touch things. I love that about him.

I thought I might have buyers remorse. Body remorse. Pain remorse. Or tattoo remorse that I didn't get what I really wanted. No remorse, whatsoever.

Did I mention I want another one?