I got a tattoo with my son Thursday night to celebrate his 18th birthday.

We’ve been planning this since he was 10.

‘Mom,’ he said. ‘When I’m old enough I want this for my tattoo: A flaming skull in a sombrero, with a rose in its mouth. And a snake going in one eye and out the other, and the word ‘Mom’ under it on a pretty ribbon.’ So for his birthday that year, I made that tattoo design into a cake, with the words, “Only 8 more years til your first real tattoo!” I had a friend, a tattoo artist, come over and with Sharpie markers, we gave him and the kids at the sleepover celtic arm sleeve ‘tattoos’. Cutest sleepover pics ever.

When he was 16, the design changed. He’d get a shot glass with the word, ‘Mom’. I’d get a spice jar, labeled ‘Ginger’. (He’s a red head.) Oh, I liked this one too.

In the end, he settled for dice. Dice? ‘They mean a lot to me,’ he explained. ‘Because of Robert Jordan… And you play D and D, so I know you like them too.’

So the tattoos were planned. Mine: Big rainbow colored geeky dice, loud, gay, proud. His: understated regular dice, thrown randomly, wood grained, black and gray tones. Unique, but alike.

On the way home tonight, he told me the real reason behind the dice.

‘Dice symbolize luck. I wanted to have this done to show how lucky I am to have you as a mom.’

I teared up when he said that. Still teared up now. I fucking love my kid.

I got a tattoo with my son Thursday night to celebrate his 18th birthday.

We’ve been planning this since he was 10.

‘Mom,’ he said. ‘When I’m old enough I want this for my tattoo: A flaming skull in a sombrero, with a rose in its mouth. And a snake going in one eye and out the other, and the word ‘Mom’ under it on a pretty ribbon.’ So for his birthday that year, I made that tattoo design into a cake, with the words, “Only 8 more years til your first real tattoo!” I had a friend, a tattoo artist, come over and with Sharpie markers, we gave him and the kids at the sleepover celtic arm sleeve ‘tattoos’. Cutest sleepover pics ever.

When he was 16, the design changed. He’d get a shot glass with the word, ‘Mom’. I’d get a spice jar, labeled ‘Ginger’. (He’s a red head.) Oh, I liked this one too.

In the end, he settled for dice. Dice? ‘They mean a lot to me,’ he explained. ‘Because of Robert Jordan… And you play D and D, so I know you like them too.’

So the tattoos were planned. Mine: Big rainbow colored geeky dice, loud, gay, proud. His: understated regular dice, thrown randomly, wood grained, black and gray tones. Unique, but alike.

On the way home tonight, he told me the real reason behind the dice.

‘Dice symbolize luck. I wanted to have this done to show how lucky I am to have you as a mom.’

I teared up when he said that. Still teared up now. I fucking love my kid.