6 Ways my Kids are like my Shitty Tattoos
Sometimes I look at them and I’m like why? I looked way better in a bikini before I got them. Oh well! Too late now! I am talking about kids and tattoos: both permanently disfiguring and not exactly like you imagined…You guys were right, that last one did come out kinda weird.
1) Great Idea when You are Drunk: You know how after 4 margaritas at Senor Frogs somewhere between 1999-2004, you thought that a tattoo of Tinkerbelle perched on your hip was like the BEST idea ever? Well, girl. I feel you. That’s the same kind of decision-making that turned a lot of us into parents in the first place. Fast forward about 10 months and you might wish Tink was the only thing perched on your (now stretched-marked) hip. Whoops!
2)Hurt Like Hell: Much like your sweet tramp stamp of the (incorrect) Chinese symbol for peace that you thought couldn’t hurt that much because people get tattoos every day, having a baby hurts like hell. Like being set on fire and eaten alive by a shark and then pushed off a cliff.
3)Does Not Look like you Expected: Before I actually got it, I daydreamed about what the owl tattoo on my arm would look like. (p.s OBVIOUSLY I have a bird tattoo on my arm. I mean O B V I O U S L Y). As the tattoo was finished, I was like WTF. Not what I pictured. Having a baby is basically the same. I thought I was getting a little doll miniature of me and my man. What I actually got was a screaming bright red baked bean that looked like my dad?? Um. Refund? Time machine?
4)Expensive: This shit was $400!! Even though it looks like something a fellow inmate gave me in exchange for some contraband smokes. And don’t even get me started on what the baby has cost us. Every last penny. Every one.
5)Permanent: In moments of regret, I have looked in to having my tattoos removed. Likewise, I have been in the aisles of the grocery store with three screaming kids and wondered…can I somehow throw them off my scent? Turns out tattoos and kids are both F O R E V E R. But strangely…
6)You Want One More. Despite being the expensive, painful, permanent, and not instantly good-looking idea of a drunk chick….I still want just one more. Even though people are probably talking about how crappy the ones I already have are. Just one little Russian nesting doll on my shoulder and I will be done. And fine, just one more little beet red infant to scream at me while I try to keep it alive. Last one. Promise.