Like many others that wear this amazing badge of ‘mother’, I’m a planer. A worrier, a doer. I multitask, organize and end the day with a million scenarios playing out in my head. Even the mundane tasks are not immune to my neurosis – every decision an opportunity for research, public opinion polling and hours of agonizing. My journals turn quickly from romantic prose to to-do lists and pro’s and con lists of whatever I’m debating at the time:
·
One kid /two?
·
CO/DC?
·
Disposable/Cloth?
·
Vegan/Flexitarian?
·
Public/Private?
·
Missionary or….Missionary?
So imagine my surprise when I found
myself, hours after running my second half marathon with 15K other women on a
postcard-perfect day in DC, propped up on a table in a tattoo
parlor!
I hadn’t yelped them. I didn’t check for health code
violations. I sat down and gave Dan my foot. Completely trusting this stranger with a goatee, a kind face and a needle.
“What do you think your family will say?” My friend asked in a conspiratorial
whisper. “I don’t know” I answered, “it’s
not for them, it’s for me”.
And now I have wings reminding me that a Goddess lives here.
One that knows that the answers will come when she stops asking the questions.
