The story of my tattoo

Today a picture from 2012 showed up on Facebook.

I seldom wear clothing that shows my tattoo, and if I do, it's only partly visible.  I don't care if people see it or not, really, but I'm too old, wrinkly, and flabby to wear spaghetti straps and halter tops.  I wasn't looking for a "pretty" tattoo, but I wanted something relevant to me, something with a story.  Let me tell you how I think the story begins.

When Cliff was in Junior High, his family's house burned to the ground while he was at school.  They lost everything in the fire, including baby Ina's crib.  I imagine someone gave them a well-used baby crib at that time; Ina died around the age of 2 /12 or 3, but by then little Charlene had come along, so it was her bed.  One time Cliff got a decal of Mobil Oil pegasus and put it on the head of the crib for her.  

When I was pregnant for the first time, my mother-in-law let me have that same bed.  By the time I got it, Charlene was eight years old and was done with it; the bite marks on the rail you move up and down are from my baby boy.

I would watch grandchildren as they came along, and sometimes babysat a couple of other babies for extra money.  The oldest grandson and granddaughter spent a lot of time in that bed, because sometimes their mom would come and stay for two months or more at a time when our son was in Germany, or even when he was "in the field" somewhere for training. 

When we moved to the mobile home, the bed hadn't been used in a long time, but I was sentimental about it and moved it over here.  Eventually I asked Cliff to remove the head of the bed and I'd just keep that, the part with the Mobil pegasus on it; we hung it on the wall, and now I use it as a bulletin board. 

You see, the memories of the many babies I've loved make me happy when I see the crib.  I remember that one night a week when Monica, an infant at the time, slept there.  She was going through a fussy stage; Rachel warned me she'd wake up crying, so she said I should give the baby a bottle and she'd go right back to sleep.  One time Monica began crying in the middle of the night.  Cliff rolled over, saying, "Can you tell me why you are doing this?"  "I'm doing it so she'll know who we are," I answered. 

So I suppose the story told in my tattoo starts with a house burning down, goes on to the teenage brother who thought his baby sister would like a flying horse on her crib, then on through the infancy of so many babies I have loved.  The bed was gone when I began watching Cora, but I wouldn't have used it anyhow.  I got in the habit of lying down with her for a nap, and usually getting up as soon as she went to sleep... although once in awhile I'd doze awhile.  I like Charlene being in the story because she and her husband, Pat, became our motorcycle-riding buddies when we had the Gold Wings.  

These days I don't think much about my tattoo.  In fact, I'll forget it for months at a time; then, if I happen to look in a mirror after a shower and notice it there on my shoulder, it takes me by surprise.  I don't have a "pretty" tattoo, but it stands for family.  Since the pegasus began with Cliff, I had his name put under the tattoo.  

My tattoo reminds me of babies, our youth, and good times.  It tells a story with many chapters, and I'm glad I went ahead and got it.