Today I am writing about an event that, if I am to be completely honest, I wish had not happened. But it wasn’t my choice to make.
For the last six years, my daughter has contemplated thoughts of one day getting a tattoo. Way back when she was thirteen, my reaction had been, “in your dreams!”, as she would have needed my permission at that age, and that wasn’t going to happen.
As the years progressed and talk of getting a tattoo intensified, I would feel ill, as she spoke of the designs she had been considering.
“I gave birth to a perfect body, and I do not wish to see your perfect skin totally ruined, by having ink injected into it”, I would argue.
My daughter persisted. She investigated the credentials of tattoo artists near and far, finally deciding on one not too far from home, who has a very good reputation in the circles of “those who know”. Needless to say, I am not a member of any such circle.
Being artistically inclined, my girl began to draw tattoo designs, which she would show me, explaining where she would have the tattoo positioned on her body, her plan being that said eventual tattoo would be easily hidden beneath her clothing, unless she chose to expose it.
Whilst she became more confident by the day that she wanted to go ahead with this tattoo, my own motherly mind kicked in with the “what-if’s”.
What if she changes her mind about the tattoo as she grows older? She will have to have it removed, which is a costly and painful process.
What if she gains weight, for example, during pregnancy, and the tattoo becomes distorted?
What if the man she eventually wishes to spend her life with hates her tattoo? What if it’s a deal-breaker for him? Okay, there’s a simple answer to that question ~ if the tattoo is a deal-breaker, he doesn’t love my daughter for the person she really is, on the inside!
And there, with that last realisation, I discovered a mode of acceptance for myself, for my daughter’s decision on getting a tattoo ~ I do love her, no matter what. My love for her is unconditional, no matter how her body looks!
I may have given my daughter life, but that did not include a passport to dictate to her what choices she should make for her life.
Her tiny baby body may have at one time grown inside of me, but I cannot claim ownership on her body or any part of her life.
At nineteen years of age, my daughter has matured into a beautiful young woman, full of determination and spirit, with the knowledge of who she really is. She knows where she is going with her life. She plans ahead when the decision is one of significance.
Just as she did with her tattoo.
A close friend from school went with my daughter, the day the deed was done, and I thanked her for being there for my girl when I couldn’t be. I would have cried if I was there.
The design my daughter chose is beautiful, and significant. It is a dream catcher, so appropriate for my dreamer-daughter, who, for most of her life, has had a dream catcher above her bed. It holds onto the good dreams for her, and takes away the bad dreams.
The tattoo has been positioned on the side of her torso, easily hidden by clothing; easily exposed at the beach.
The pink shading adds an even more “girly” effect to the design, just as it should be, for my ultra-feminine daughter.
Even though I may have wished otherwise, when my daughter had made her decision, I supported her, she’s my baby, and I love her, no matter what.