My “Owie”

Little Dude has noticed something about his Mommy. Something that I list in #39, here, and frequently mention, whenever I talk about my college friend, Tendrils.

Mommy has a tattoo.

It isn’t big and it isn’t that noticeable, and although it is something I don’t regret doing (it meant something to me at the time), it isn’t something I ever wanted to flaunt, and I placed it on my hip, accordingly. It was something I did for me and because Tendrils was threatening my life can be very convincing.

As I once again daydreamed about the days of privacy while perched upon the porcelain throne, Little Dude, whom had followed me into the bathroom while chanting “potty,” suddenly pointed at my hip and proclaimed, “owie!”

Yes, Little Dude has determined that moles, freckles, indentations from socks, the nipples on his own chest (how I keep from laughing hysterically at this one – I have yet to figure out), and anything else tainting otherwise unmarked skin (or fur!) is an “owie.” The stories about “Spot, the dog” – Spot’s spot is an “owie,” from Little Dude’s point of view. And now, my tattoo, which is normally hidden from view, is the ultimate owie. I just hope he doesn’t try to pull down my pants to point it out, again. (Don’t laugh – he delights in unzipping everything right now.)

After this incident with Little Dude, and watching my cousin’s son this past weekend, I know the day is coming when he will walk-up to a complete stranger, to comment about a different tattoo, piercing or something else different from what he knows, and I hope the person is understanding at the natural curiousity of a child.

I recall my mom yelling at me, when I was young, for pointing and laughing at a man with a ponytail. I grew-up in the 1970s – long hair and a ponytail on a guy wasn’t that odd, so why I just noticed it on that day, for that man, I have no idea. I just remember asking my mom, very loudly, why, “that man is wearing a girl ponytail?” (Maybe he had a pink tieback in his hair – I’m trying to remember.)

Mom had to have been mortified. And now, her revenge on me is probably on the way – for that incident, not for the tattoo, which she promised me I would regret someday.

By the way, my child now refers to himself in the third person. And his version of his name is absolutely HILARIOUS – and so darn appropriate. Although I won’t share here, I would be happy to share it one-on-one, since it ties into my career so appropriately. Just let me know.