Kathy Gibbons: Navel gazing -- literally
Feb. 28—It was 2005. My daughter was nearing the end of high school and — I think it may have been her birthday present — I took her to get her bellybutton pierced.
It was a hard time. My husband and I were getting a divorce after nearly 30 years of marriage. It was a nice diversion to go and do something like that with her.
She and I had already gotten double interlocking tiny heart tattoos that she designed the year before. But bellybutton piercing was never on my own personal radar until she got hers. On the way home, I mentioned to her that I, her mother, might also want to get it done. But I wasn't serious. I was almost 50 — it was probably too late for something like that.
It came up in a different conversation later and someone looked at me kind of sideways and asked me why at my age I would even consider doing something like that.
Welp. Maybe I wasn't too old after all. A few days later, I was on the table in the tattoo parlor.
Now, I've always been weight conscious — one of those people who has, since age 12, thought they're overweight even when they weren't. Now that weight truly is a factor, I deeply regret all the time I spent dwelling on it when it actually wasn't. I would give anything to be "fat" like I used to be right now.
I only bring that up in context with what came next, which was to ask the woman who did the piercing how much weight I could gain before it might give me problems.
"Twenty pounds," she told me. It's always been in the back of my mind.
That bellybutton ring proved to be the best thing. I have no idea why, but it's been a point of pride and empowerment. It was my own little secret — no one saw it unless I was in a bathing suit. It buoyed me through the bad times and in the better times since — which have included remarriage to my husband. The granddaughters also love to tease about it ("Show us your bellybutton ring, grandma").
Well, about a month ago, the it started bothering me. Feeling like a human chicken sitting on the nest growing wider by the day working remotely at home at a computer since March, even with 40 minutes on the treadmill most mornings, getting thicker in that grandma (I think of it as "The Incredible Hulk") kind of way, I was certain the problem was weight-related. I refuse to get on the scale right now so couldn't see if I'd reached the dreaded 20-pound threshold.
But it hurt enough that I had to remove it. I'd leave it out a few days, then put it back. It would start to bother me again. Remove. Repeat.
One day after I'd had it out for about a week, I caught a glimpse of my stomach. It looked vacant, like nobody was home — Motel 6 without the lights. It made me sad. So I got a different ring and tried it again. It's been fine since.
Whew.
I don't know how long it will last. But it's good to have the lights on again.
Kathy Gibbons is a former city and features editor at the Record-Eagle.
