Tattooed Parents- we're just like the rest

As hard as we all try to be open minded and reign in the urge to judge there are many stigmas that society still holds fast to. One that affects me specifically is the bias that still exists toward people with tattoos. No, I am not talking about the cute little heart on your ankle or the butterfly on your hip as society seems to have gotten over those. I'm talking about people who have devoted their bodies to art. 

Hubbs, Bub, and I went on a family vacation to Disney World this year with grandma and grandpa (his parents). It was our first vacation together and we got stared at. I'm talking full on open mouthed gawking, pointing, and whispering. People visiting the world of Disney even looked angered and offended by us, especially when pushing little man around in his stroller. Apparently it was bad enough that we were tattooed, but adding offspring to the mix was completely outrageous. I wasn't really surprised.

Now, I'm really not all that far along on the road to being a thoroughly tattooed female. I have six. I intend to have a sleeve, a half sleeve, at least one lower leg sleeved (socked?) and one finger. However, 98% of my tattoos are clearly visible when it its winter. I also have a septum piercing and a tongue piercing as well as a couple others. There's barely a part of Hubbs left un-inked. He would literally have to be wearing a full hazmat suit to conceal them all, and he also had 1 1/4 inch gauge tunnels in his ears. We get looks wherever we go. 

What I don't understand is...what is the big deal? Tattoos are much more widely accepted today than they were even eight years ago when I first sat in the chair. But they are still deemed 'unprofessional' in many circles and cause people to give you a wide berth on the sidewalk. And people with tattoos are just that- people with tattoos. I understand that not too long ago there were serious crime/gang associates almost exclusively linked with tattooing, but this is the 21st century and having tattoos on my chest doesn't make me a bad person. I'm actually a pretty good person. Up until my recent hospitalization I was gainfully employed at a respectable business, I paid my bills, and took care of my family. My time was devoted to going out of my way to make other people happy, and every once in a while I indulged in a tattoo session to give myself a little happiness too. 

I've heard outrageous stories: mothers pulling their children away from guys with tattoos and telling them, "stay away from dirty bikers," and seen fathers step in front of their children, acting as shields, from a woman asking for directions. Really? That 'dirty biker' was at a fair with his family and an active participant in children's charities.  Color is only skin deep. A narrow mind permeates your entire being. 

Hubbs really has it worse than I do for the time being. He's an intimidating figure as it is at a brawny 6'2. But people see his tattoos- head to neck to knuckles to legs- and they back away, never mind that he is often described by little old ladies as a sweet, polite, and gracious gentleman. He works in the service industry and encounters all kind of people on a daily basis, walking into their homes to fix whatever has gone wrong. He is always first met with wide eyes and an instantaneous narrowing of the door opening, but he is the one that people always want coming back because he is a kind, respectful man. He is the one who will drag an older customer's garbage cans to the sidewalk without being asked, he'll fix the shower head even though it isn't his job, he'll play with your dog and talk to your kids. Every week he mows the lawn of our neighbor across the street because she is older and he doesn't want her to have to spend her fixed income on a landscaper. 

We are active, loving, attentive parents. We play at the park, we only employ a babysitter for work emergencies, and our kid is well mannered, patient, and well behaved (even though he is out of control spoiled). We often get complimented on his good behavior (and awesome array of fedoras). We have many friends who are also tattooed parents and they are all loving, wonderful, colorful people. I know that there are those who are tattooed and do not fit what I am saying, but that has nothing to do with their body art and everything to do with who they are as a person. Like I said, we're just people, same as everyone else out there. 

So keep in mind the next time you see a tattooed mom or dad, that they may be a few different colors on the outside, but on the inside we're still all the same. 

Evolution: From Jenny to Mamma to Jennimamma

(And back again)

Honestly, remembering the first time Bub ever called me mommy is a mixed bag of emotions. I do remember how I felt at the time- I was heartbroken. Heartbroken because I wasn't his mommy, heartbroken because he wanted me to be, heartbroken because his mommy wasn't a better mother.

We were home alone together. I sat down with him and explained that I was his Jenny, that mommy would be sad if he called me mommy, and not every boy was as lucky as he was to have a Jenny and a Mommy. He accepted this, for a while, and reverted to calling me 'his Jenny'.

I spoke about it with Joe later that night. He told me Conner was probably just expressing the fact that in the short time that I had been in his life I was a better and more attentive mother to him than Baby Mama ever was. "You spend time with him, you cuddle with him when he wants hugs. She yells at him every time he walks up to her."

From that point on I simply reminded Conner that I was his Jenny, not his mommy, anytime he called me mommy or momma. It broke my heart every time, because I knew from the sad look on his face that we both wished it were different.

As he got older he became more inquisitive, naturally. He wanted to know more about himself in relation to the other people in his family. Grandma and Grandpa were daddy's mommy and daddy, Grammy and Pawpaw were Jenny's mommy and daddy, and he had his mommy and daddy...and his Jenny. One day in the car on the way to the mall he informed me that when he was really little he was a baby in mummy's tummy until he grew up and came out. We then talked about how daddy came from Grandma's tummy and I came from Grammy's tummy. "What about your tummy, Jenny? What's in your tummy?"

"Nothing right now. But one day when Daddy and Jenny decide to have a baby, I'll have a baby in my tummy and then I'll be a mommy and you'll be a big brother."

"But how come I can't come out of your tummy so you can be my mommy? I want to grow up in your tummy so you'll be my mommy." Heartbreak all over again.

"Baby, you only get to be in a tummy once. And besides, you wouldn't fit in my tummy anymore, you're a big boy now."

He didn't bring it up again while we were at the mall. We shopped around, got him some new toys and clothes, had lunch together, and went home. We were playing I cars together, calling each other mountains and driving the cars up each others legs to our heads. Complete giggle fest. During one of Darryl Cartrip's trip up Jenny Mountain, however, Conner pulled his hand away. "Jenny, I want to come out of your tummy so you can be my mommy." He was visibly upset. I pulled him into my lap and hugged him. I kissed the top of his head.

"I know Bubba."

By far, the worst incident was our Disney trip. We went with Grandma and Grandpa and had an amazing time. One night at the resort he went into an endless chorus of 'mamma', almost like Stewie from the Family Guy episode 'Stewie Loves Lois'. And he was relentless. No matter what we said, no matter how much we told him no, he wouldn't stop. I remember helplessly looking at Joe. Finally we flat out told him not to call me mamma. He stopped happily dancing around, glared at the four adults who were telling him no after telling him yes to everything else, and stormed off to his room. I went into our room and cried.

When we got home I explained to Conner that I was his stepmom (after talking it over with Hubbs) and that he should call me Jenny. That satisfied him, for a while. He slipped from time to time, but seemed to finally accept me as Jenny- his stepmom. I think have a title for me helped reconcile it in his mind.

It was a few weeks ago that he came up with the moniker Jennimamma. Joe told me to let him call me that if its what he wanted.

He got yelled at by Baby Mama.

When he was over the following Thursday he informed me "Mmmy says I'm not allowed to call anyone else mommy."

"I know baby."

"Are you still my Jennimamma?"

"Of course I am."

"I'll never call anyone else Jenny." I could do nothing but hug him.

The following week he went on a family vacation with his mom's side of the family. When he came back that Thursday I gave him big hugs and kisses and asked about his vacation. He didn't want to talk about it. "I missed my mamma," he told me. I was confused when he said this, knowing that he was with his mother, aunt, and grandfather.

"What do you mean? Where was mommy?"

"You were home with daddy and I missed you. I'm so glad I'm back home with you!" He hugged me so big and kissed me on the side of the neck where I always give him kisses.

Just what am I supposed to do about this?