My wife has worn a belly button ring for, I don’t know, probably almost a decade now. Every so often, over the years, I’ve asked her if she’d ever take it out.
“Maybe,” she’d say, “if I were pregnant or something. I’ve seen post-pregnancy belly button ring scars. Not pretty.”
And a few days ago, as news of Osama Bin Laden’s timely demise barked from the TV, Carey was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, deciding to remove it. It was getting pretty uncomfortable, see. Time to go.
So, my counter-culture, hippy-trippy, vegan activist wife is surrendering herself over to motherhood, moment by moment and bit by bit. I’m not sure why, but seeing her pop that thing out was a surprisingly momentous picture for me and I’m not entirely sure why.
See you later, childhood. Next stop: Who Knows Where.