Kicked Under the Table

When I was 15 years old, I got a tattoo. Did you know that about me? Well, it's the truth. I got a Phoenix, the bird of rebirth, rising from the ashes of a destroyed life. I felt like it was the perfect symbol for me. Because, when I was 15, I was really struggling with... um... my upper-middle class two parent household? Their insane demands that I go to SCHOOL and even tell them where I AM sometimes? The torture of just being generally MISUNDERSTOOD by EVERYONE because couldn't they SEE that Trent Reznor of "Nine Inch Nails" was the ONLY one who REALLY GOT me? Uh... maybe it was hormones. I'm truly not sure. All I know is that an abstract post-modern Phoenix tattoo (also the logo of the theatre company I was involved in, who at that time was preparing to stage a production of Dr. Faustus in which I was planning to shave my head and appear topless-- it's ART people, can't you SEE that?) made absolute sense to me as a mode of self-expression.

Now, not so much.

It's not that I give the tattoo much thought, truthfully. As I talked to my mom about it today, I pointed out that I have had that mark on my body for longer than I existed without it, so I'm pretty well used to it by now. It doesn't show when I am clothed, so it was not a disqualifier for anything I have wanted to do in my life, really. It's just kind of there, like a birthmark, or maybe a scar.

The only thing is this. Location, location, location. The placement of this particular tat seemed really super logical to 15-year-old me, and by that I mean it was somewhere that my parents couldn't see it. But hindsight being what it is, perhaps the hip/lower abdominal location was not exactly ideal. Because, my lovely phoenix, you see, is being encroached upon by my darling children, and it is starting to stretch. Dearest helpfully pointed out today when I got out of the shower that it now looks more like a coat hanger than a mythical bird. Crap. He's right. And I don't even have stretch marks yet. I have the feeling that it is only going to get more and more attractive as the next couple of months go by.

I told my mom (who finds the whole thing downright hysterical, in an "I told you so" kind of way) about my regrets about that angle of my rebellion. I also told her that I might plan a tattoo to put on my boob, one that will look BETTER as it stretches and eventually sags and droops like a deflated balloon. So if you have any design ideas that will look better as my boob eventually deflates, please pass them along to me.



We had a busy day today, but it was the really nice kind of busy. First, we met my Uncle Bob, who was in town for a conference, for lunch, which was lovely because he is just a nice guy and it's my philosophy that you should stay close to your family, if you are fortunate enough to have one, particularly to those members of your family who are not completely insane. It was great to catch up and chat uninterrupted, possibly for the last time in our lives, as we are about to have 2 kids and both of my uncle's kids are expecting babies this spring too!

A lot of people have been asking me lately if I am feeling the babies move yet, and the answer has been a resounding no until really the last couple of days. Lately, I am feeling them move and I have to admit it's pretty neat. A just feels more like a squirming, the classic "butterflies in the stomach" feeling, not any distinct kicking, and I feel him/her about every other day, maybe once a day. B, however, is a distinctive kicking feeling, like popcorn popping, right below my rib cage on the left. That one I feel pretty regularly, especially whenever I drink orange juice or eat two Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies at the mall. :) Clearly, the coconut shrimp at lunch today were a big hit, because B was tapping away under the table. :)


After that we ran some more little errands, hit the mall for a while. We went into Gap, even though I do not consider myself a Gap kind of person, they were having a sale on some maternity stuff so I picked up a cute shirt and tried on some bras. No comment on bras right now, other than to say that I am going to have to start wearing something to contain the bosoms at night, because they keep getting kinda under my armpits and getting squashed and waking me up, and believe me, for a formerly A-cup kinda girl, that is shocking every time. ANYWAY... so we went into the Gap, and to get to the maternity part you have to walk through the baby part, and I have to admit that they have some very cute stuff. Also a LOT of PINK. Like someone came in with a spray gun full of pepto-bismol and just covered about 70% of the store. Woah. Dearest is so much better adjusted about the potential girl thing, he even picked up a few things to show me that he liked. I am not quite there yet. Then the cutest thing happened. There was a real live ladybug on my shoulder, right there in the Baby Gap. I don't know what it means, but it did make me smile.

Now if I can just convince my girls not to get tattoos when they are 15. Help...