“Do you always take so many pictures?” Her question didn’t have any judgment in it. It was the kind said to get conversation flowing. While seated on the cushioned table, a sort of hybrid between the kind in a doctor’s office and the ones in a massage studio, I sat with my left foot splayed out and my phone in hand documenting each part of the tattoo process.
She knew a little bit of our story. Chris and I had come three months before to discuss getting matching tattoos for Mabel. We brought some inspiration with us and I thought it was important for her to know the meaning behind the tattoos. “We had a baby in February and she died shortly after birth, “ I told her then. “We used to call her the Karate Carrot, when I was pregnant with her, so that’s why we want a carrot tattoo.”
Now, seated in the studio, I hammed it up for the camera, instructing Chris on which angles I wanted and then grabbed the phone from him so I could see and take some of my own. Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head while keeping a little smile on his face, in that way he does that lets me know that he thinks I’m silly but that my silliness is endearing too. So when she asked if I always take a lot of pictures, I felt a need to explain.
Of the two of us, Chris rarely takes photos. I’m usually the one making him smile and telling him “Now take one of me, like this!” as I posed in some ridiculous way in front of a landmark. We have a nicer camera, but it’s an effort to remember it and when I want to document the more mundane moments of everyday living, I usually grab what I have- my cell phone. The only exception to this habit was this past year, when I shied away from the camera.
“We found out our daughter had Down Syndrome when I was 13 weeks pregnant,” I told the tattoo artist. “And there is a high chance of stillbirth with Down Syndrome, so in the beginning I didn’t take a lot of photos because I thought if I lost the pregnancy, the photos might make me sad. Then later we found out she had some birth defects and the doctors had no idea whether she’d live or not. We wouldn’t know until she was born. So my reluctance to take photos got worse. But now that we’ve been through it, now that we’ve lost her, I am so sad I don’t have more photos of me pregnant. They were part of her story. So now whenever I do anything related to her, I try to take lots of photos to make up for it.”
She nodded in understanding, as she dipped her ink needles, changing the color from green to orange. There was no pause in the conversation, no awkward “I’m sorry”s, no weak platitudes. A simple nod of understanding as she went on creating the life long tribute to my daughter on my ankle.
I chose my ankle because I wanted something I could easily show or hide, depending on the circumstance. It’s also by the foot, reminding me of Mabel’s clubbed feet. Chris chose the side of his chest, where the kidneys meet the lungs, reminding him of the organs that made her existence so short, but so special.
Do you carry anything with you to remind you of your baby or one that you’ve lost? If you were to get a tattoo (or if you have one) what would you do to symbolize your little one?