There is something I have wanted to do for a long time. I have been talking myself out of it for years, despite the fact that people do it everyday. It is something that I know will bring me joy when I finally have it done.
My name is Jen. I am 33 years old. I am getting my first tattoo.
Background info: I have a very low pain tolerance. To put that into perspective, when I was in labor with my second child, I thought I was going to die. Like, literally. I love her so very, very much. But at the time, in all the agony of not being able to have an epidural due to time constraints, if I had the choice between continuing to labor/putting a cork in it and going bankrupt building a time machine… I swear, I love her. But this is just to give you an idea of how I deal with pain.
So, you can probably imagine, my desire to have ink was overridden for a long time by my fear of it making me cry like a baby. But, after a lot of thought, and my younger sister insisting (perhaps, softening the blow) that it feels like “getting scratched by a cat,” I caved and said yes to getting a tat.
I made plans to visit her for the weekend this coming Friday, and she made the tattoo appointment local to her. (Her 2nd visit there) I decided to get something small, my girls’ initials and their birth dates. Harmless, I figured. I mean, I’m not blasting out of the gate with a full sleeve or anything. It should only be 3″ by 2″ if it comes out the way I’m expecting. Harmless.
Now, comes the crowd-sourcing part.
- What should I expect?
- Anyone else have a tattoo on the forearm? (All black text, if that makes a difference.)
- What is the care like afterwards?
- Where does it land on the scale of being tickled by kitten whiskers and shanked in the arm repeatedly by a rusty blade?
I mean, this is happening.
This is happening.
This is happening.
I told myself this year I would get healthy, work out more, eat better, and conquer some fears in the process. 2019 is the year of getting my shit together, and sometimes that involves getting inked.
At the very least, my little sister can hold my hand while I cry.