I celebrated my 37th birthdays recently by piercing my nose. I admit that it was a bit out of character but there I was at 9.30 pm in my bathroom with a sewing needle in hand. Of course I could have always gone to one of the numerous tattoo/piercing parlors. But taking my two little boys to a mecca of body mutilation was out of the question. I could just here it now. “ Mama pleeeease I want that dragon picture on my face, please, please please, I want it more then anything!!! Why can’t I have the dragon picture on my face? That man has a picture of a naked girl on his arm! Her breasts are very big they must be full of mama milk. Where is the baby? Mama can I go ask the man where the baby is in his picture?”
I would just do it myself. It couldn’t be that hard. I grew up in New Guinea where the tribal community we lived in were experts at piercing. I had witnessed my friends using bits of bone to dig holes through various body parts. When I was a ten year old I asked my mother if I could let my best friend Fusai pierce my nose, the request was met with such a strong negative response I never asked again.
Life has a way of repeating itself and so there I was almost 30 years later contemplating the forbidden. My two year old night owl watched with interest as I started twisting the needle into my nose only to giggle when I let lose a slew of German words that I kept for special occasions. Silly Mama!
Gritting my teeth I pushed the needle through my nostril and with satisfaction took a few minutes to admire my handiwork. For a fleeting second I thought about showing the husband my accomplishment but decided against it. He already thinks I am weird. Surprising him with a large sewing needle through my nose probably wasn’t a good idea.
Pushing the little silver nose stud into the newly created hole hurt like hell but when all was said and done my two year old clapped. Mama looks schick!
That night as I lay in bed with my throbbing nose I wondered why at the age of 37 had I finally decide to pierce my nose? Midlife crisis was the husband’s suggestion. No, I thought to myself. Several theories came to mind. Was I trying to gain some control over my body that my children in their ever so sweet way had kidnapped from me? Maybe my life had gotten so out of control I was trying to find a way to regain control. Or maybe I was just a crazy mama who had neglected herself for too long. I fell asleep that night with a wonderful sense of triumph.
A few days later I went to the airport to pick up my mother whom I had not seen in over two years. As I saw her approach I wondered what she would say to my newly pierce nose. As she got closer any concerns that I might have had flew out the window. Great rivers of laughter came out of my belly and I hugged her madly. She had dyed her white hair a brilliant shade of pink.
Originally posted with Motherverse Blog