Confessions of a Mommy & Her Tramp Stamp

Confession time: I LOVE celebrity gossip magazines and websites. It’s a dirty habit that I’ve come by honestly from snuggling on the couch with my grandmother and reading  Star Magazine cover to cover. Some grandmothers bake cookies and knit, my awesome Gram made sure I was in touch with all the celeb happenings

One of my favorite parts of gossip magazines is the “Stars are Just Like Us” section because I really do feel better about myself seeing Reese Witherspoon carry her own groceries or Bradley Copper pump his own gas. So imagine my excitement when I realized that Nicole Richie and I are more alike than I could ever imagine. All from this little tweet:

You probably guessed my second confession. I am the shameful owner of tramp stamp. What seemed edgy, cool, and “deep” when I was 19, now just seems misguided, uninspired, and lame at 33.

Tattoos can be really beautiful and an outlet for self-expression and identity; however, my lame-o tattoo is neither of those things. Everyone else had one in college and I wanted one too. Oh, I thought it was so “deep” and meaningful, but years later, I would give anything to have the space above my coin slot not covered in ink.

What is this uninspired ink you may ask? Well, what happens when your birthday falls on the cusps? One of two things: You can read both horoscopes for the day and pick the better of the two, or you can permanently mar your skin with a mixture of an Aquarius and a Pieces sign.  So deep…

I hid the tattoo from my parents for months, but when bathing suit season came along, there was no hiding my new artwork. If looks could kill, I would have been dead from my Dad’s death stare (shudders). It only worsened when he and I were watching Wedding Crashers and Vince Vaughn totally threw me under the bus with this line:

“Tattoo on the lower back… might as well be a bullseye.”

Awesome. Just what every dad wants to hear.

My mom took it even worse. She was horrified by the tattoo and screamed “Someday you will have kids and they will want a tattoo. And what are you going to say? Huh? You won’t be able to say anything because you have a trashy tattoo.”

Dam her! She was right.

The idea of my babies permanently marking their perfect skin with anything makes me die a little. I made those kids and their skin. Surely there should be a law that you need your mother’s permission before you are allowed to ruin the skin she crafted, no matter how old you are! I can only hope there is something less permanent in the future that kids think is cool like a sticker or non-permanent hair dye. Wishful thinking, I know.

Our new house is across the street from the neighborhood pool and since my kids are part fish, I expect to be splashing around in that pool all summer and many summers to come. I can only hope that there are a few other moms and dads in my new hood that carry shameful tats. Maybe a few tribal bands, an ancient Chinese symbol for patience that really means fried rice, or even a few Greek letters from their glory days.  We can nod our heads in solidarity of our bad choices. We were wild and crazy once and we have the ink to prove it! Now we are dragging our kids kicking and screaming to the kiddie pool during adult swim.