My Blue Star, on the pulse point, bringing him back to my heart.
I never thought I would get a tattoo. I never thought I would like something long enough to have it forever etched on my skin. I got it exactly eight weeks after I delivered Blue, accompanied by my childhood friend whose very-tattooed husband sat in the chair next to me. He said he wouldn't hold my hand, but he also promised it wouldn't hurt too much. It hurt a little but it was nothing compared to the hurt on my heart.
The next day I asked my sister if she noticed anything different about me as I gestured awkwardly and obviously with my hands. She slightly shouted: "Did you get a tattoo? Don't get a tattoo! Tattoos are gross!" Um, you're gross. Later that same night she asked over the phone what I was doing and I said I was reading babyloss blogs. And she said, "Why do you want to do that? You don't know anyone from anyone on the Internet." When I asked her not to criticize, and why was she shouting, and told her I did not want to have an argument about it, she said "bye" and hung up. Apparently I should not be looking to her for support. But it's a huge disappointment. Four days after the procedure she found me crying in a quiet room of our parents' house, and she asked why I was crying. Nice. I'll give you ONE guess. She said she was trying to get away from her kids. Nicer. I calmly told her to forgive me if I did not have any sympathy for her at that time. And she said, "I wasn't looking for any!" Nicer yet.
So I feel like, I already lost my baby, why do I have to lose my friends too? My sister was my friend. But for now she is just my sister.
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