On Collecting Tattoos in Your 40s

I got my first tattoo at 19. It was wall flash. I picked it because it was on the wall. I don't have to tell you it was bad, you've already pictured it correctly.

I got my second tattoo at 35. It was a cover-up of the first one. There were sixteen years between them.

Since then, I've gotten at least one a year. My right arm is a full sleeve. My left has a few. My legs are mostly covered. I have one on my foot. I'm running out of real estate in some areas and just getting started in others. I am, by any reasonable definition, a person with a lot of tattoos.

Why most of mine exist

I want to be clear up front: most of my tattoos don't mean anything. They're things I liked. A character I thought was cool. A flower I wanted on me. A skull because I wanted a skull. Most of my collection is, essentially, a sticker book on my body, and I don't apologize for that.

The "every tattoo must have a story" expectation is something tattooed people get asked about constantly, mostly by people who don't have any. The honest answer for most of them is "I saw it, I liked it, I scheduled it." That's the whole story. You don't ask people what their throw pillows mean. You don't have to ask what my forearm rose means either. (It means I like roses.)

My aesthetic, for the curious: all color, neo-traditional, bright, cartoon-leaning. If a tattoo style had a vibe, mine's "saturday morning cartoon meets carnival poster." It is not subtle. It is not minimal. It is not the fine-line script everyone got in 2019. It's loud and I love it.

The ones that do mean something

That said.

I have a tattoo on my foot that's a constellation of stars. Each star is a different size and color. Each one represents a specific thing. The egg retrievals. The eggs that fertilized. The ones that made it to blastocyst. The transfers that failed. The pregnancy losses.

It's a star map of an entire decade. People look at it and see decoration. I look at it and see a calendar.

I'll be adding to it. The transfers that worked, the kids who came from them, the most recent loss. Some of the stars on my foot don't exist yet. The constellation isn't done.

This year for Mother's Day

I got two new tattoos. One on each hand. Five small dots across the fingertip-touch points of each hand, one hand per kid. So when my daughter holds my left hand, her fingertips land on the dots that are hers. Same with my son and my right.

When they're not holding my hand, I'll still have the dots. The contact points are mine to keep.

I don't have a clever framing for this one. It's just what it is.

What's different in your 40s

I have more money now. I make better decisions about what I want. I almost never get told I'll regret them, which used to be the response I got constantly at 22. Apparently you age out of that warning around 35, which is the same age you stop caring whether you'd regret them anyway. The math works.

Healing is different. Leg tattoos take longer than they used to. The first day or two of any new piece feels heavier on a 44-year-old body than it did on a 24-year-old body. I'm not sleeping facedown for a week the way I used to bounce back. I plan around it now. I wear the loose pants. I do the lotion routine. I respect the process.

The artists are different too. At 22 I went to whoever was available. Now I research, save, follow specific artists, book six months out, fly to other states for the right one. I know what I'm looking for. I know what's good. I have opinions about line weight.

The decision-making is faster, not slower. People assume getting older means more hesitation, more "should I really do this." It's the opposite. By 44 you've stopped second-guessing what you like. You know what you like. You schedule it.

What strangers say

Almost nobody comments anymore. The "you'll regret those" people have either moved on or aged out of the conversation. The occasional surprised "you have so many" still happens, usually from someone who didn't realize, but it's not a judgment, just an observation. Other tattooed people clock me instantly and we exchange the look.

Sometimes a kid stares. I let them. Sometimes their parent apologizes. I tell them not to. Kids are allowed to look at things.

What's next

After the hand tattoos, I have a list. I always have a list. There's a new piece I've been thinking about for my left arm. There are sections of my legs and thighs I want to fill in. There are artists I want to work with. There are designs I've been carrying around in my notes app for months waiting for the right moment.

The collection isn't done. I don't know if it ever will be. I'm in my 40s, with a full sleeve, two mostly-covered legs, a thigh I'm still working on, a foot constellation, and ten new dots that turn into hearts when my kids hold my hands.

I'm not slowing down. I'm just getting better at it.