For some reason while I was wandering around Wal-Mart at 9pm the other night looking for stocking gifts I got thinking about celebrity babies and the crazy presents that their parents must give them. There is so much wrong with that sentence- but I’ve already publically embarrassed myself in the last few weeks with declaring that I have a ‘moustache’ on my legs and a Twilight obsession so I don’t see how I have anything to lose by telling the world that I wander round Wal-Mart at night thinking about celebrities.
My rambling mind took me through Suri Cruise’s high heels, Shiloh Pitt’s mini-punk-rocker look and I ended up thinking about the Beckhams, wondering how gutted Victoria Beckham is that she doesn’t have a little girl to dress up like a doll. That led me straight to David Beckham and the fact that he has massive tattoos of his three boys names all over his body and I wondered if he had a girl, would he get her name done in a girly script, or a girly colour.
So Beckham has his kids names on him, Angelina has the birth coordinates of her kids on her, and Lenny Kravitz has a tattoo on him of where his daughter doodled on his arm when she was little. I paused in the Wal-Mart jigsaw aisle and wondered, if I was going to get tattoos for my two children, what would I get?
I don’t like the obvious. I would have to get something that truly represented them to me. It would have to be meaningful, it would have to be symbolic……something that would forever remind me of them. No answer came and the pointless line of thought was pushed from my brain as I tried to find a store assistant to help me find waterproof pants for my daughter.
It came to me in a flash the next morning when I was dragging myself around the kitchen getting breakfast for the kids. If Angelina has coordinates to remind her of the place of birth of her kids, and Lenny Kravitz has a doodle, mine would surely be a little circle tattooed on the bottom of my foot.
The symbolic representation of a soggy cheerio.
Because believe me, not a day has passed in the last three years when I haven’t had to pick one of those little f**kers from my sole.
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Heck yes! How do they manage to get everywhere??? I laugh when I clean the exersaucer and find dried up Cheerio carcases wedged under things or when I am vacuuming and you can see at least 20 of them in the bagless compartment!