As a toddler, Laura was terrified of Band-Aids and refused to allow me to place one anywhere near her body. I recall her actually bleeding somewhat profusely one time she fell and her screaming in horror as I got out the Band-Aids. Never mind the actual injury; the Band-Aid was surely going to cause her great harm. Somewhere along the line though, something clicked and she fell in love. Scratch that. She became obsessed. Anything remotely painful started to require a Band-Aid. And the moment that Band-Aid became worn or started to pull off, Laura would get a new one to replace it. Sometimes even the original Band-Aid was found to be misapplied, and that always merited a new one.
New Band-Aids were usually required at night before bed, and often after taking off tights too (because everyone knows that tights and Band-Aids do not mix). And I have to admit, I let this happen. You all know by now how dramatic Laura is, and it was often just easier to let her put a Band-Aid on, if that would stop all the wailing. Not to mention that there’s something so heavenly about your child retreating upstairs for minutes at a time, giving you a chance to recover, or at the very least, go to the bathroom with the door closed. If Laura wanted to goof off with Band-Aids, I wasn’t going to complain. Santa gave her some at Christmas, and Grandma sent some too. We were flush with Band-Aids at our house, 4 boxes deep. Excessive Band-Aid use didn’t seem like a concern.
I realized something was wrong several weeks ago when Laura informed me that we were out of Band-Aids. In less than 2 months, she went through 4 boxes! And at the same time, we started to realize that just about any injury, real or perceived, had been receiving Band-Aids. Yesterday was the last straw. A review of Laura found 3 Band-Aids on her right foot, one on her left, and one on her right hand. There was one legitimate blister on her right foot, but beyond that, the rest of the “injuries” would have healed nicely with just a kiss from Mommy. Then, at a birthday party last night, Laura came to me with a boo-boo on her hand. I really looked, but didn’t see anything. But she was determined, and started screaming that she needed a Band-Aid. I guess I should know by now to carry some with me, but I didn’t have any. That did not fly with her, needless to say. So when we got home last night, and I told the Army Man the whole story, he took a bold stand and confiscated all of Laura’s Band-Aids.
The Band-Aids now reside in our bathroom, and she has been given the explicit instructions that she will only receive a Band-Aid if there is blood involved, and only Mommy or Daddy is allowed to apply the Band-Aid. Our point was made this morning when I quizzed Laura on what injuries lay beneath her various Band-Aids. She couldn’t tell me.