Getting my ears pierced was one of those things I never got around to doing. I think my mother may have been against it, but I never was interested enough to ask her why. Too girly-girl for me, anyway.
But then I got married, and a few girl things didn't seem so bad. And then DOB got me earrings for Christmas. (That would be Christmas 2006.) My natural inertia still slowed things down, but last August I finally got myself to the mall and submitted to the procedure.
The saleslady seemed quite surprised at having a 28-year-old woman presenting herself for her first piercings--her last client had been a three-month-old. She went through her spiel reassuring me about the pain. I've birthed two kids, I assured her. A little poke in the earlobe does not scare me.
Somehow I didn't realize until I was midway through that not only was pain involved--there was hassle. Specifically, keeping the earrings in at all times and washing the holes out three times a day for six weeks. It felt like a jail sentence, but having put my hand to the plow I resolved not to turn back. Even when I found out I would have to wear earrings at all times for six months.
There was also the trouble, once the six-week sentence was over and I was on probation, of getting the earrings out of the ear. This is a trickier business than you would think when you've never done it before. I finally gave up and asked a friend to take them out for me. Of course, since I had to put them right back in that didn't accomplish much, but at least I knew it was possible.
As of today the probation is over and I can actually take the earrings out and leave them out. I'm free! I'm free!
I don't regret getting it done, but you can be very, very sure I will never sport any more piercings. Anywhere. Nor will I be taking my small daughters in for ear piercings. Surely diapers and feedings are enough trouble without adding ear-washing.