It’s Too Soon to Talk About the Wedding

I’m a wreck over it, seriously.  This is the stuff midlife crises are made of.  When your baby sister gets married in an ostentatiously arty, wholly original, and beautiful way, and you’re in your 30s and you’re feeling kind of lost and frantic and alone, well.  It takes a toll on a girl is all I’m saying.

My baby-baby sister and I are in a disagreement about whose idea it was to get matching tattoos (Russell did the thing, we designed it.  He’s cool), but I think it was mine, because I was making a joke, sort of, and was surprised that they were so enthusiastic about the notion.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about tattoos, about how I’ve always kind of fancied them and wanted one, but how I’ve never been able to pull the trigger, as they say.  “But it’s permanent!” was always my thought.

The babiest sister, she’s 22, already had a tattoo.  I’ll leave the story to her to tell, but our father is fond of saying, “Tattoos are permanent proof of temporary insanity.”

I like to think of it as permanent proof of our last week as unmarried sisters.

Child got a Temporary.

Wait a second!  Three sisters?!  Why four dots?

We have a brother, too.  He’s after me, almost 30, and then the two girls, 24 and 22.  We called them “The Little Girls” growing up.

The circles represent each of us. My super pomo feminist sister didn’t take her hubby’s name, so we’re all still Lines, hence the line connecting the circles. The shaded circle is birth order.  The eyebrow (I like to call it a parenthesis) is above my circle and represents Child.  We can update the tat as we each spawn, and if our brother decides to join our indelible family mark, we added him, even though our original conception of the tat was without him because we are fairly certain he will not get the tattoo.

And I would like to take this opportunity to tell you all that I will be getting more tattoos.  I am planning salad mushrooms on my shoulders by mid 2013.  And many more after that.  By my 40th birthday, I would like radish bunches on my chest.

Being tattooed was one of the weirdest/coolest sensations of my life.  I’m sad I didn’t start sooner.  Sort of.

Another weird sensation last week was Child’s first bleeding head wound.

I was a wreck about that, too.

We were in Baltimore.  The wedding was at Load of Fun Gallery‘s graffiti alley, so one of the days leading up to it, we took a little walk down to inner harbor along Pratt St., and Child thought it would be a fun idea to climb on this sculpture.

Before the fall.

About 20 seconds after I snapped that pic, she slid down, and knocked her head on that edge of white.

About 60 seconds after that, her skull blood was on my hands, and my gut went into knots and I instantly had a vision that I’d be carrying a woozy, 50-lb baby girl around Baltimore in search of a hospital, begging them to just make sure she doesn’t die because dying is against the rules.

But that’s the kind of luck we have.

All was well, however.  I watched her for dizziness and passing out.  She could correctly identify how many fingers I held up.  And later that day, she fought sleep as hard as she ever does.  It’s still tender, but she only complains about it when she wants to avoid going to sleep.

And so ends the first post from an emotionally intense week.

Anybody else want to share head injury stories?  That’s what the comments is for.



Author: April Line Writing

Writing about whatever the f*ck I want.

8 thoughts on “It’s Too Soon to Talk About the Wedding”

  1. Getting tattoos can be addictive…you get one and then you start thinking about another. Having one you can update is a great idea!

    As for offspring head wounds, my daughter fell in her early walking days such that her mouth landed on the curved-but-still-edged rail halfway up the rocker-glider. This tore that thing that holds your upper lip to your gums. Yeah. Wince away.

    She howled and bled all over one of my two most comfortable nursing shirts. The whole shoulder was soaked in my baby’s blood. Traumatic much?

    Meanwhile Daddy called the doctor to find out if we should do anything. They said to give her an ice pack wrapped in a cloth, so as I did that and handed it to her, the doc’s nurse suddenly asked him if the baby was breathing. He said yes, and asked if she was in danger of stopping. The nurse said, “Oh no, it’s just that I could hear the baby crying and then stop suddenly.”

    He said, “That’s because my wife just gave her something wrapped in cloth and she forgot to keep crying while investigating the package.”

    The nurse told him our daughter was clearly just fine. And she was.

    1. That’s a great story about your daughter! I love when the weeping can stop with a distraction. Especially now since the weeping comes with the whining which I almost always find unbearable to listen to.

      Yeah–I’m going to wait about six months to make sure I still want more tattoos. I might be high on the emotions and the endorphins and the significant life events.

  2. My brother hit me in the head once with a golf club. We were little and fighting. It was a full on swing. Our family doctor came to the house, dad cleared off the table and he stitched up my scalp right there. That’s my head in jury story.

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