My parents made me wait an agonizingly long time to have my ears pierced—nine years, to be exact. (Dad took me to Dr. Knosp’s office the morning of my ninth birthday, and then proceeded to pass out during the actual piercing.)
I always said that I wouldn’t put an arbitrary age limit on this rite of passage for my girls, and so when Ava asked about it shortly before her sixth birthday, I said, “Sure.” Turns out her father had other ideas. And, so, she waited.
Finally, a week before her seventh birthday, I took Ava downtown to Claire’s, the one location for piercing in our little city. A store manager and assistant, both dressed in St. Patrick’s Day garb (including green, feathered false eyelashes), stabbed permanent holes in my daughter’s ears. There was a point at which I realized why my parents waited, but I am loathe to admit that…
Once the hole placement was marked with purple marker, the piercers worked on both ears simultaneously. Ava didn’t even grimace…
Seriously, her expression never changed.
She did manage a smile once it was done, of course.
One benefit of waiting a bit is that Ava can care for her new earring entirely by herself, with only a reminder here or there. They are healing nicely, and she’s already picked out the pair she’ll switch to when her six week wait is up.
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