So I got new ink recently and it got me thinking about the degrees of pain I’ve experienced over the past 15 years of getting tattooed. Naturally, thanks to my somewhat twisted mind, that moved on to other kinds of pain.
This latest road on the ink journey was my wrist. I will have to say it did smart quite a bit. My adorable tattoo artist had to smirk and comment that I was complaining a lot for someone who has a giant tribal on their back – “I don’t remember you complaining so much with that one.” He was obviously enjoying himself. I will admit that the one on the back of my neck was the most painful of them all. There is nothing quite like feeling the vibration of the needle in your teeth while you try to ignore the actual pain all at the same time.
This trip was a little different. Once we cracked a few jokes and had a few laughs, all while in progress, I remembered the lesson. I sat there and remembered why this band was being permanently marked on my skin. A broken band for a broken bond with a word to remind that life goes on. I didn’t feel anything again until it was done and that tingling of a fresh cut sunk in.
I guess this is where the relativity comes in, for me at least. When an emotion is so intense that it dulls the physical pain of something literally cutting into your skin – I wondered for just a small moment what natural childbirth would have been like. That was a fleeting moment however, blessings be to the inventor of the epidural and C-sections.
I realise that parenthood has made me quite a sap, emotionally speaking. There are many things that wouldn’t make me flinch – my friends and family have always been disturbed by these tendencies. My sister once decided that I was a sociopath (definitely another story for another time). Now, I find myself having to be careful what I watch on TV lest I find myself turning into a blubbering mess and climbing into bed with my kid just to hug him so the monsters in my head don’t get him. Yes, sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy.
Been having an exchange, sort of an argument, with someone over the past few days. Last night, against my better judgement, I started at the beginning and read all the way through everything we had both said. I was slicing a tomato at the time, with my ipad on the counter in front of me. I sliced open my hand and didn’t feel a thing. Little one came into the kitchen and asked me if my “boo boo” was making me cry. I had no idea what he was talking about till he took my hand and kissed it better. I didn’t know I was crying. He’s such a sweet, caring soul. I worry sometimes if this world will break him.
Life goes on. One day it won’t hurt. Until then, I’m just trying not to lose a finger.