She started asking when she was fourteen years old. Kaitlyn wanted a belly button piercing more than life itself but I put her off by saying that there was no way she was getting one before turning eighteen because I could not be convinced to sign the consent form.
Kait is eighteen now and has a talent for mentioning that fact on a daily basis. Yesterday I received the dreaded text message “Would you be angry if I got my belly button pierced?”
I typed back “Don’t you think there’s better ways to spend $50?” hoping that my logical argument would assuage her from disfiguring her body.
“No”
I pondered my limited options.
“Do you want your dad and me to be there?”
“Ok”
Not. yes. Just ok.
So we jumped in the car and sped to meet her at the tattoo shop. I wanted to be there to say “I told you this wasn’t a good idea” in the event the piercer nicked an artery and she bled to death in the chair. If she went into shock, I wanted to stroke her forehead while saying “You stupid, stupid child” until the paramedics pried me from her side.
It’s an odd feeling to have no control over your child’s life after so many years of being completely responsible for it. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.
When we arrived she had already filled out her own consent form and was waiting for the twenty-something kid to prepared for doing the procedure. I could tell she was nervous so I piped in the standard “It’s not too late to change your mind” in an octave I didn’t know my voice was capable of speaking.
“Nope. I’m doing it”
I watched her climb onto the chair as visions flashed in my mind of how to physically prevent this young kid from hurting my daughter and scarring her body for life. I could stick my hand in my pocket and pretend to have a gun. I could jump over the counter and….
“Mom…will you hold my hand?”
She hasn’t said those words to me since she was four years old. That one sentence probably spared me a life in prision for murder in the first degree.
My baby needed me.
The words pierced my heart.
On the record…it was still a stupid thing to do. Off the record…I’m so glad I got to be there.
