I finally did it.  I got a tattoo 2 weeks ago - 3 hearts in a vertical row on the inside of my wrist, representing my husband and two daughters.  I've wanted to get a small tattoo for a few years, but each time that I seriously considered it and broached the subject with my husband, he objected strongly.  Not one to be told what to do and considering myself a (very) independent woman, it surprised even me that I would defer to him on this seemingly insignificant, though permanent, decision. Each time I mentioned it, he would insist that as a career woman and mother, it was simply inappropriate to have a visible tattoo.  And then he would intimate that, visible or not, tattoos are, how shall we say, "trashy." 

Recently, I had been talking about a tattoo more and more, even engaging my husband's friends to convince him that it was OK for me to get one.  My husband seemed to have softened up somewhat, so I pursued the idea.  I started asking all the important questions like, what kind of tattoo would I get, and where?  Would it set a negative example for my daughters?  I could deal with that.  (After all, if I got one, I couldn't tell my daughters that they couldn't get one when they're older.)  Would I still be able to teach at a conservative, Christian graduate school?  Thankfully, the answer was 'yes.'  How much would it cost?  How long would it take?  And perhaps the biggest question of all: where would I get it done?!?

After years of contemplating a tattoo, I awoke one day a determined woman.  My thought process was as follows: I am a strong, independent, bold woman who is not afraid to take risks, say it like it is, and have it all.  I don't shy away from what I want and I've earned all that I have.  In my mind, getting a tattoo was a bold act predicated on the belief that it's my body and my decision.  Unafraid yet aware of the negative impression some people may have when they see my tattoo, I decided to do it.  I called my brother to find out if he would disapprove (to my utter surprise, he didn't).  Then, the day after our 18th wedding anniversary, I asked my husband the ultimate question - would he divorce me if I got a tattoo?  The answer being no, I knew I was good to go.  The very next day, I got the tattoo, in 15 minutes, during the lunch hour, from a wonderfully artistic young woman named Em.  She was very excited that I wanted a tattoo of 3 hearts and showed me her triple heart tattoo representing her 3 brothers.  I immediately felt at ease.

While I had given quite a bit of thought to getting the tattoo, I hadn't thought about the post-tattoo scenario.  Yes, it hurt a bit, but not nearly as much as I imagined.  It was red and swollen and sensitive for a couple of days and then it began to scab, then peel.  Not only had I overlooked the tattoo healing process, but I had not at all anticipated how having a tattoo would make me feel.  I felt like a little kid with all the confidence in the world, before we're saddled with all the trappings of our self-conscious lives: puberty, college, a career, a mortgage.  I finally felt free from the world of 'should' and 'should not.'  Some may call it a mid-life crisis, but I disagree. It's no crisis at all; in fact, it's just the opposite, it's empowerment. 

That evening, realizing that my tattoo was not some random, trivial symbol, but a representation of him and our children, my husband announced that he would get a tattoo too.  Without missing a beat, my 12 year old daughter proclaimed that she would get a butterfly and the words, "Believe in yourself," tattooed on her ankle when she's 18.  Suddenly, a lifelong hesitation to follow my heart and any judgements I had made about people who decide to do 'such things' melted away and at last, I feel truly free.