“I want to watch Paw Patrol, Mommy.”
If I don’t hear that phrase at least 84 times a day, something is wrong. I’m only slightly exaggerating.
My son positively adores Paw Patrol. His favorite pup is Rubble, in case you were wondering. If I were forced to choose, I’d have to say my favorite is Chase–let’s be honest, I can’t resist a man in uniform–but I digress.
Moving right along.
When I found that a friend of mine was throwing a Paw Patrol-themed birthday party for her two-year-old son, I was genuinely, almost embarrassingly excited. Jayden was going to lose his shit (in the best way possible).
As expected, the party was a hit. From the decorations to the cake to the “doggy bone” snacks served in cute little dog bowls, EVERYTHING was Paw Patrol. The giant Chase balloon, which was bigger than the birthday boy, was a real crowd-pleaser. You should’ve seen Jayden’s face.
Of course, the party favors didn’t disappoint: Paw Patrol temporary tattoos.
Jayden knows what tattoos are (Mommy has five of them), but he has no idea how they got there. When I asked him if he wanted a tattoo, he was all for it–that is, until it came time to stick the paper square on his arm. I tried telling him it was just like a sticker, but since his last trip to the pediatrician (and last round of shots), he was extremely cautious about unfamiliar things touching him, especially since I needed to hold it on his arm for 15-20 seconds. Every time I placed it on his arm, he giggled nervously and jerked it away. Trusting, isn’t he?
I knew I had to take drastic measures. He watched closely as I carefully applied the tattoo on my own arm, gently pulling away the wet paper to reveal the shiny design underneath.
“I WANT A TATTOO MOMMY!”
I let him choose between Rubble and Marshall, and he surprised me by picking Marshall. I repeated the process on his arm with no complaints. Hey, if it was good enough for Mommy, it was good enough for him.
And thus, the story of how I ended up with a Paw Patrol tattoo on my arm.
Now, where’s that baby oil?