To tat or not to tat.

I'm not exactly an obvious tattoo candidate: I'm not a big fan of pain, I don't wear much jewelry or otherwise adorn my body on a regular basis, I have major commitment issues when it comes to said adornment and I'm generally fairly conservative (read: BORING) in my dress. To my way of thinking, tattoos are for two general types of people: renegade, artsy, punk types who draw the blueprint for their own huge, beautiful dragons or meathead frat boys who get the ubiquitous sun on their shoulder-- of which I am neither. Plus I think tattoos may just be on the way out (it would be SOOO like me to get in on the fad right as it's going officially OUT).

The only time I've ever been seriously tempted to inject ink into my epidermis via a burning needle was when I left San Francisco two years ago. For a few months there I contemplated getting a small, boring, conservative little star on my butt or something equally tiny and hidden. I wanted to MARK the end of my days in the place where I became an adult, the place where I found myself and found my love. Around the time that I actually looked up tattoo parlors in the yellow pages, I also found out I was pregnant and I had to put it off.

Now it seems there is a new demographic of tattooed people that actually includes me: moms. Last Thursday's New York Times' Style Section covered the rising popularity of "mommy tattoos". As more than 40% of women between the ages of 26 and 40 have at least one tattoo, it's increasingly common to find moms with a tattoo of their babe's footprints or their nickname or their birthplaces' geographic coordinates (think Angelina Jolie). (Sorry, no link to that NYT story as they make you cough up dough, and possibly blood, to read them online.)

I have to say, I find this idea appealing. But my conservative little self would most likely go with something small, hidden, and drab. A tiny black star with a "z" in the middle? A little red heart with a "z" in the middle? A small leaf with a "z" in the middle? Do you see where my non-artistic, limited-imagination brain is going here?

But I think I will have to wait. Again. No, not because I'm pregnant but because we do want another child (*gasp*choke*clutch chest and hope for sanity to befall us*) and I guess I'd have to commemorate their ass as well.

It may be my latent pessimism but I swear I can just hear it now: "Mooom! Why did Z get the leaf and I got the lame star? Why does she always get something cooler?"