{Gulp} This is the post where I admit to my mother that I got a tattoo.

I should start by telling you that I don’t even have my ears double pierced. I never pierced my nose or my belly button. I’ve never been in major trouble. I am the chief of all rule followers. I don’t have a rebellious bone in my body. I am a conformist.

Now that I got that off my chest, let me tell you how it happened.

Last month was simply lousy. Hard, and sad, and exhausting. We were no longer in that wear your stretchy pants, binge on ice cream and watch Seinfeld re-runs all night phase. But we still needed some FUN. We needed to laugh and escape from reality and make some special memories as a couple. So Mr. Right surprised me with the news that he had booked us a house through Air BNB, made dinner reservations, and coordinated child care with his parents.

SCORE.

Mr. Right found us the absolute cutest duplex in the Museum District in Fort Worth, just 15 minutes from our house. I started the weekend by checking in and going straight down for a nap (my favorite luxury in the whole wide world), while Mr. Right got a massage. Then we got dressed up and went for dinner at American Food & Beverage. I highly recommend the Chorizo Scotch Eggs and the House Made Ricotta. It could have been my whole meal (but of course I also got the fried chicken because, well, I’m fun like that).

At dinner I casually mentioned that I had been thinking about getting a tattoo in honor of the baby we lost last month. I had been wanting to have something tangible to remember him or her by. We had already agreed to give him a name (because the thought of a nameless baby breaks my heart), but I needed something more. Something to mark the experience.

Mr. Right totally called my bluff. “Let’s go tonight!” he said.

I was thinking more along the lines of maybe in five years or forty years or probably never. But whatever. I got so nervous thinking about it that I ran to the bathroom and got sick. You know, because I’m so good at being a rebel and stuff.

But I did it. We left the restaurant and went to a tattoo parlor in Fort Worth and got MATCHING TATTOOS. Me. This girl.

Let’s just say that I’m probably the least cool person who has ever set foot in that tattoo parlor. And the most square. And I’m pretty sure we made their night with all my questions like “What’s the smallest tattoo I can get?” and “How thin can you make it? No… thinner…”

Let’s also say that my new tattoo is VERY small, and VERY hidden. It’s never going to see the light of day.

Mr. Right and I both got our baby’s initials. It’s so special to me and means that I will have my baby on my being until the day I die. He (or she) will be with me forever.  I feel like we took a very sad experience and created a really happy memory. Together. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?

Mr. Right and I haven’t laughed this much in years. We giggled through dinner, through the whole tattoo experience, the rest of the night, and woke up still laughing about it. I mean, come on – WE HAVE MATCHING TATTOOS! That’s just funny.

After that, we slept late, went to brunch, and were back home by lunchtime, snuggling our kiddo. And still laughing.

{Oh – and not to worry… I went ahead and called my mom and told her about the tattoo so she wouldn’t read about it in a blog post. Because I’m a rebel, but not THAT much of a rebel.}