A few of weeks ago, I turned 30. While some people get totally bummed out at the idea of becoming so old, I am actually more excited than anything else. Thirty feels not like an important number, but an important milestone. As such, I am using it as an excuse to evaluate where I am, pat myself on the back for the things I am proud of, and adjust my attitude towards the thing that I am not.
In my 20s, I worked my way through grad school, established a solid career as a programmer, got married, had a child while my husband finished his PhD (everyone was tired and cranky!), bought a house, and took on a second job for fun as a writer for GeekMom. Phew, I'm tired just thinking about it all!
Observing myself now, there are a lot of things to be proud of but also some things I'd like to change. When you're a mother, your lifestyle and priorities really take a hit, and I've lost self-care somewhere along the way. Messy hair, old t-shirts, beat up yoga pants: that is an excusable uniform for a new mom. But by the time your child turns two, that disheveled look will only make you appear powerless and feel frumpy.
Therefore, I'd like to take this milestone to kick my butt in gear. I have to spend a little bit more energy taking care of myself. Looking put-together affects how I feel about myself and how I portray myself to my husband, to my daughter, and to the world. I've spent so much of my 20s feeling insecure about my appearance and telling myself "I look good as I am" so often that I almost forgot it's OK to actually try to look better. Putting on cute shoes, coordinating an outfit, dressing up rather than always dressing down, embracing accessories, or putting on makeup doesn't make me less of a geek or less of a feminist, it makes me feel like I can conquer the world with my best foot forward.
I started a month before my birthday. More exercise, a healthier diet, a new haircut, a more put-together look... But darn it all if turning thirty was going to be all work and no play. I needed to find a spectacularly crazy thing to do to celebrate! Something that I always wanted to do but never had the guts to. My mind immediately went to one thing: getting a tattoo. Out of morbid curiosity, I tested my idea on Facebook. I posted, "I feel like I need to so something stupid for my 30th. Tattoo? Vegas? Suggestions please!" Everyone unanimously replied, "Do not get a tattoo!"
And in that moment, I knew I had a winner.
Problem: My parents would kill me.
Solution: I'm 30 for goodness's sake, why is this still my first concern?! Do we ever outgrow the fear of disappointing our parents? And anyway, I have a kid! And a good career! And a house! I'm pretty sure I've accumulated enough Responsible Daughter Points to pay for this crime. (Sorry, Dad!)
Problem: It would look bad when I'm old.
Solution: Surely a few things about my body will look bad when I'm old. Will a tattoo really be the worst of my worries?
Problem: I could potentially regret it later.
Solution: Hurting a friend's feeling, saying something mean, not speaking up when you really ought to: Those are things worth regret. A hideous haircut or an inconspicuous tattoo are not worthy of such a strong emotion. Anyone should be so lucky as to grow old with a tattoo being their worst mistake in life.
With all my potential problems properly addressed in my head, I had to tell my husband about it. He's my voice of reason, because I so obviously lack one. He said, "Yes, I fully endorse this idea. I think it is a great idea and you should go for it." In fact, what he really said was something else entirely, but I'm pretty sure he didn't say the word "No" anywhere in there and that's really the only keyword I was listening for.
Next up, I had to make some decisions. Who? What? Where?
WHO: How I chose a tattoo artist.
I requested referrals from all my tattooed friends – all one of them – and she had gotten her tattoo on vacation in New Zealand. Well there goes that referral.
Every tattoo studio in my town was very highly rated on Yelp, so it was hard to narrow down my search. Then I called one studio and the guy on the phone wasn't super friendly. I visited another studio where the guy I talked to seemed very experienced and knowledgeable, but he honestly scared me a little bit. He was too serious, too manly, too sad, too old.
Feeling rather threatened by the overwhelming choice of stereotypical tattoo artists covered in tattoos of skulls and roses, I took to the internet and Googled "best tattoo artist in California." Yes, I am that much of a dork. Finally after a little while, I found a couple of articles about people going crazy trying to land a tattoo appointment with Mike DeVries, realistic animal portrait tattoos extraordinaire. Browsing around his impressive online portfolio lead me to the website of his tattoo studio, which in turn lead me to the list of other tattoo artists working at his studio. All of them seemed extremely talented, but I stopped my search when I found the short bio for Marc Durrant. He's a tattoo artist, a dad, a gamer, and a nerd. And he didn't look like an ex-con. Bingo! The perfect artist for me.
WHERE: How I chose the physical placement for my tattoo.
I wanted it not too hidden but not visible at work, so probably the foot or lower leg. Turns out foot tattoos are extremely difficult to heal, with days of hobbling around and weeks of wearing no closed shoes. Well I have a toddler to run after and a job where I don't want to showcase my new tattoo for all to see, so leg it was going to be.
WHAT: How I chose the actual tattoo design.
I knew I wanted "Q.E.D." because my husband and I are math geeks. I didn't want just a black quote though, I wanted something big and colorful. Hey, I waited this long to get a tattoo, might as well make it worth my while.
After some serious Pinterest research, I decided on an abstract watercolor tattoo. To top it all off, I wanted to complete it with a retro gamer reference hidden in the abstract art. An homage to Megaman, or Sonic, or Pokemon, something like that. If watching LA Ink has taught me anything, it's that it is in my best interest to let the artist do what he does best, which is to create art. I wasn't sure if Marc was going to love me or hate me for it, but I gave him the general concept and then handed over the design reins.
THE BIG DAY: How it all went down.
I arrived at the studio and talked with Marc about the design. I waited over an hour for him to draw it up, then we went through a few iterations to fine-tune the design. I was really happy that he was willing to take so much time to design my tattoo, but I'm just warning you: be prepared to wait. My appointment was at 11 am and we didn't get tattooing until 2:45 pm. I had a book with me, but I was too nervous to concentrate on reading! Like I said, it was totally worth the wait, but I should have brought something more mindlessly distracting or taken a walk.
Once I had the stencil on my skin and sat in the chair, it was time to start. It being my first tattoo, I had no idea what it would really feel like. I had read a lot about it online in the days leading up to the big day, with pain reports varying from "annoying scratch" to "worse than childbirth." It all depends on your pain tolerance and placement of the tattoo. In the end, I didn't know what to expect and I was a little bit nervous about how I would withstand the hours of tattooing necessary for my rather large design.
I sat up and looked down as Marc made the first line. It was uncomfortable for sure, perhaps even painful but not mindbogglingly so. With my pain expectation satisfyingly calmed, I laid down, opened my book, and got comfortable for the long haul.
It took three hours and a half of tattooing. In the studio, there were two other artists tattooing two guys with designs similar in size to mine. All six of us sat in silence. Compared to the hubbub of work or the chaos that is raising a 2-year-old, being at the studio felt a little bit like being at a spa. A painful spa, granted, but at least I could sit in peace, relax, and read my book!
THE RESULT: Thirty. Nerdy. Tattooed.
My husband keeps asking me if I'm having a midlife crisis. The revamped exercise schedule, the improved diet, the snazzier outfits, the new tattoo. He jokes that if I buy a Harley-Davidson too, then he's definitively getting me professional help. But no, no crisis here. Just a rebel at heart, happy to have gotten a chance to put all fears and rules aside long enough to enjoy a new experience. Just a woman, trying to rock motherhood without losing herself. Just an overachiever, so overtired that she would deliriously compared a tattoo studio to a spa – I mean, seriously, who says stuff like that?!
