On Monday morning, Paloma woke up and announced that she was ready for "Realrings."
Realrings is Po-speak for Earrings. As opposed to "Snaprings," which are clip-ons.
After a quick call to my fabulous BFF Becky, a bad-ass mom who holsters an ear gun and has the honor of piercing all the little ears of her large family (and we are part of that family, as I insisted that she and her sister adopt me into it), we were on our way.
Here is Paloma before, with her "Frozen Ducky," a friendly resident of our freezer who is called upon for every owie, mosquito bite and pre-piercing duty that befalls the 5FC abode.
Becky is a rock-steady, calming sort of gal, and Paloma was completely at ease in her hands. She told Paloma what was happening, and while she was setting up each ear, she would glance my way and then lovingly say,
"Let your breath out, Sarah. We're not ready quite yet," because she is a good friend who didn't want me passing out.
Because your mom passing out while getting your ears pierced? That's not a traumatic event at all.
But clearly, the trauma was mine alone to bear, because does this look like a traumatized face?
I think not.