In this world of IF, it is so, so easy to lose your grip on hope. It is a constant daily struggle in which I must be reminded that this too shall pass, and when it does, I will be in a better place and hopefully that place will be lined with more faces at the dinner table. It just so happens that because of the astounding density of my skull, my reminders literally need to be branded on*:
For this week's edition of show and tell, as seen at Mel's fabulous little corner of the blogosphere, I present to you my very first tattoo. I got it this summer, just 1 month after my 30th birthday and 1 month after the loss of our first pregnancy. I had always wanted a tattoo and, in an effort to thwart the patron saint of cliche, I agonized for years over what it would be, desperately searching for something personally relevant and meaningful. As I was recovering from my D&C, it suddenly became very clear to me. In between popping handfuls of ibuprofin and having birthday cake in my pajamas, I sketched this (of course, I've since lost the sketch, but the final product is close enough):
Tree: Tree of life, or even, family tree, which should be self explanatory in this business. Also, a nod to my home state (California hills are often dotted with their trademark Coast Live Oaks, as is the hill behind my in-law's house).
Dochas: (this is in Gaelic script, so it's not easily read). Direct translation: Hope. Mr. S and I are your run-of-the-mill American Heinz 57 when it comes to ancestry, but we do share one country of origin: Ireland. Hence the Gaelic.
6/10/00: A 6, 1, and three 0's are hidden in the branches. This is our wedding anniversary.
Red behind the tree: This is as close to the pomegranate color used in fertility as the artist could come.
Eventually, I would like to add to this (more foliage and color), but for now, I am pleased. And I'm hoping that at times when I need it most, hope will be visible and concrete, lest not easily forgotten.
*sorry for the bra strap. Totally classy, I know. :P