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| The pic she saw… I personally would have gotten a white tat if I were to get one. |
While I was kind of still in some sick/slept in/where the fuck am I and whose children are these mindframe, like pre-coffee blah, I looked through Facebook, and enter my 6 year old…
Gabby: Scroll up mom. What’s that?
Tattoo. Chick with a Fresh Tattoo.
Gabby: That’s so cool. I like that one.
Me: that’s a real one. A grown up one. You can tell by the red puffiness and the blood.
Gabby: A real one?
Me: Yeah, real tattoos hurt really bad to get, which is why most grown ups like it, it’s like saying, “I got a tattoo and didn’t cry because I’m super strong.” They have a little needle that stabs you over and over again like a pscyho wasp.
Gabby: Ahhh, I don’t ever want to get a real tattoo.
Me: Notice I don’t have any tattoos? You wanna know why?
Gabby: I don’t want to get one. When I grow up, I’ll just use kid tattoos.
Me: Do you want to know why?
Gabby: Because it hurts mom.
Me: No, I mean it does hurt, but that’s not why. Childbirth hurt way worse than getting a tattoo and I had 3 of you.
Gabby: Ahhh.
Me: Do you want to know why child?
Gabby: Not really.
Me: Because my dad told me I’m not allowed to get one. My dad is in heaven. I can do whatever I want and not get a spanking or a time out, and I still listen to my daddy because I respect my daddy.
Gabby: I want to ask dad. I hope he tells me I can’t get one too. They hurt too much.
So then she walks up to daddy.
Gabby: Am I allowed to get a real tattoo?
Dad: What?
Gabby: Am I allowed to get a real tattoo?
Me screaming from the distance: She is hoping you will say no like my dad because it hurts. She means when she grows up.
Gabby: Yeah, when I grow up, am I allowed to get a grown up tattoo?
Daddy: Let me just say this. Do you see any tattoos on me?
Gabby: No
Daddy: That’s because the ink, the tattoo paint, goes into the blood. My blood would still work like regular blood, but I wouldn’t be allowed to give blood to someone who needs it.
Never did we say she couldn’t get one, but we never said she could. We handled this chizz like a boss, or bossier than boss, like a politician master question avoider. I would say this is a parenting win.
Well up until the part…
Daddy: So what blood type is Gabby?
Me: I think she got an A on that.
Daddy: Seriously, what is her blood type?
Me: How am I supposed to know? I was under the epidural after pushing out a child tearing my innards into pieces when they told us this stuff. You should know. You were just standing there.
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