Ink

Because I had my last baby at age 42, it's not a surprise that I am sometimes 20 (or more) years older than the other moms in his class.

One of his best friends has parents much younger than me.

They are intelligent.  Educated.  Interesting.  Tattooed. 

They have beautiful children and they are a lovely young family.  They are just covered from toenails to eyeballs in colorful, permanent designs.  With lots of piercings.  Both of them.  I don't know what they do for a living, but I am betting neither one of them is a banker.

I don't mean to sound like such an oldster. 

I am not anti-tattoo.  Not at all.  I may get one someday. 

I might need it sooner than later.

I was dropping #3 off at daycare.  I wore a skirt.  His little friend with the colorful mommy gave me a hug.  Then he poked me right above the knee and said "My mommy has a picture there too."

I looked at my knee to see what he was talking about.

That's not a picture, honey.

It's a varicose vein.

Sigh.