The Piercing

This past Sunday was a big day in my little girl’s life…she got her ears pierced.  Or maybe I should say I allowed my seven year old daughter to undergo cruel and unusual punishment.  Let me just say that I don’t remember what it was like when I got my ears pierced.  I was also seven, and maybe I have blocked it from my memory, I don’t know, but if I had gotten a good look at the torture device piercing implement earlier, I am not sure that my ears would even be pierced at this point. 

So we get to the torture parlor, I mean piercing parlor, I mean earring shop, and I told the teenager working the staple gun piercing thingy that Kate wanted her ears pierced.  She handed me a clipboard full of waivers that I needed to sign.  Waivers?  Oh, right.  It all made sense once I got a look at the staple gun with the 3/4 inch steel lance attached to it.  The one that I was going to voluntarily submit my daughter to have her innocent, sweet little ears gored with.  I got a hot flash, seriously, when I saw that thing.

But not feeling quite dizzy enough to be deterred, I signed the papers and handed them to the piercing agent.  She makes a mark on Kate’s little precious earlobe, and asks me if that is the spot that I would like the goring to take place.  “Oh that looks perfect!” I happily reply (clearly suffering from a lack of oxygen to my brain at this point).  I try not to look into Kate’s eyes, lest she sense my guilt over what I’m about to let happen to her. 

Then she marks the other ear, and asks Kate if she is ready to have her ear punctured with the staple gun. 

She places the gun on Kate’s ear, and squeezes.  You should have seen the look on Kate’s poor little face.  It clearly didn’t feel quite as mild as a shot (which is what I told her it would feel like.  Remember, I have blocked out the memories of my own torture).  I got another hot flash.

On to ear number two.  (Thank goodness there are only two).  Again, the squeezing, the grimacing, the metal piercing her sweet little earlobes.  I think I almost fainted.  Very quickly, the teenager handed her a mirror before she started to cry.  Her little ears looked darling!  You see honey?  You see how pretty it looks now that you have been through the torture? 

 Welcome to womanhood my darling little girl…the torture has only just begun.

pink ballet slippers

I was sorting through some of Kate’s old clothes that I had saved–or more accurately couldn’t bear to part with–and came across Kate’s first pair of ballet slippers.  They were so tiny!  I sat there, clutching those tiny pink slippers, remembering when I was pregnant with her, my first baby.  I didn’t know whether I was having a boy or a girl, but I felt for certain that I would be a much better “boy mom” than “girl mom.”  I was not interested in tea parties, or ballet or really anything pink.  Until my little Kate came along, that is.  Suddenly, there was nothing more precious than a little two year old girl in a fluffy pink tutu holding a fairy wand streaming with ribbons.  I loved to sit and watch her ballet class, to see my little baby girl dancing around on her tippy-toes.  She was so darling, she was precious, she was mine.  And I was so thankful that the Lord knew that I would be a good “girl mom” too.