Mama bird

My mom found out about my second tattoo tonight... the one I wanted her to never find out about.

We were sitting and chatting with the Kennedys on in the background when suddenly, she stopped mid-sentence. "You have a tattoo," she said, "I just saw it." It was an accusation, not an observation, by the way. And sure enough, there it was, peeking out of the dress I was wearing.
I guess these things happen. They're bound to, with warm breezy clothing on the way. Ah, summer.

For those of you who don' t know, it's a nightingale on my left side. Also, for those of you who don't know, she hates birds slightly more than she hate tattoos. Happy mothers day, right? I guess that's a gift that keeps on giving.

When I explained I had gotten it in the summer and had successfully hidden it for a good eight months, she relaxed a little. Then I added that it was for the eating disorder I had been been actively fighting, and she accepted it a tiny bit more. She even asked me what the tattoo actually was, "waffles?" She took something that I thought would shock and appall her... and she accepted it with humour. She might not be crazy about it, but she took it in stride and listened.

That, and for many other reasons, is why I love my mom.

Then of course, I had to guiltily confess I have another tattoo appointment booked for the end of June, and her chief concern was that I can't afford these things when I'm paying off student debt. So I used her own philosophy against her: life is short. I've said it here before and I will say it again: yes, when you get a tattoo it's for the rest of your life... but there isn't a standard length of a human life. I could die in five minutes, or I could go years from now. How long that ink is under the skin is a testament of time. So she told me I had better explain what I wanted to get before we spoke to my father about it.

That's why I love my mom.

We briefly tuned in and out of watching the Kennedys and she told me she remembered where she was when she learned about each of them dying, these moments of history she was alive to remember. We ended up talking about a little bit of anything and everything. A little family history, and in the spirit of the day, she told me my birth story. About how the doctor on call pushed his intern out of the way to pull me out, how I was born blue, without air, instead of crying. How when I was born, it was pouring rain outside.

That's why I love my mom.

I'll post pictures from our Mother's Day Lunch later today... in the mean time, go call your mother. Hug her. Kiss her on the cheek, or invite her out for a cup of coffee. She deserves a little of your time. Tell her why you love her. Write her a blog post.