Breaking the Bank

Somehow lately we seem to be spending as much money on band-aids as we do, say, on milk. You know, something vital that my children need to grow strong and healthy. And yes, I am referring to the band-aids here, not the milk.

The culprit in this breaking of the bank is my middle child. She is almost four, and apparently she's at the height of her accident-prone days. Which seems to be timed perfectly with her bandage loving days.

Although we also went through this budget-buster phase about three years ago with my oldest. I remember them well, those constant requests for a band-aid, even for the littlest of scrapes that were all but invisible to the naked eye. It seems like every day I would find loose band-aid wrappers and those little waxy strips all over her bathroom. Or every time I picked up a doll I would find a matching set on her knees, or across her face. Sometimes even the stuffed animals got wounded - and those tattoo bandages don't come off of fur too easily, just take my word for it. Back then the boo-boos were abundant, no matter if they were fact or fiction.

Now, here I am again, three years later. Following the trail of wrappers all over again.

Indeed my younger daughter does manage to take some diggers. Her biggest bleeders are the knees, at least one of which has had a band-aid on it since late 2006. So there is a definite need for keeping the medicine cabinet stocked (as much as I'd like to just say "sorry honey, we're all out of band-aids").

Of course she is also magnetically drawn toward getting paper cuts these days too. And I use that term loosely, since any tiny piece of skin that might be dangling a bit is considered a paper cut and is in immediate need of a bandage.

She'll even put a band-aid on a wound that is already healed. If it has the fresh pink skin showing it's still in need of first-aid in her book.

What really kills me is that she CANNOT STAND to take them off. She winces and whines and seems to be in way more pain than she ever was when she first got the injury. Or didn't get it, whichever the case may be.

The result of this fear of taking the band-aid off is that she insists on not interrupting the process. It must happen organically. Which can take a long time with those seriously sticky tattoo type band-aids. A loooong time.

Inevitably, she will have one dangling half off her knee for days, and she will not let me get anywhere near it. It floats off her skin in the water during bathtime and catches on every pair of pants at every potty break. It is practically begging me to pull it off. I mean if the band-aid could talk, I really do think it would ask for a little mercy.

And yet, she will protect it with her life.

I'm hesitant to admit that many a time I have just ripped them off her when she wasn't paying attention. She'll be happily singing along in the tub and - RIP! - I'll take that sucker off. And I always have a good excuse. "It got caught on the washcloth sweetie, I'm so sorry!"

Needless to say she can't stand it, and she is likely to blame my torturous ways for many a lost achievement in life as she grows up.

The other night she had one hanging off when she went to bed. I asked yet again if she wanted me to take it off; I even offered to sing a special song or tell a joke so that she might agree. But no,she wouldn't hear of it.

It had been working towards freedom for at least 2 days already and I still wasn't allowed to touch it. It was barely even hanging on anymore, and I just couldn't take looking at the thing one more day.

So I did the most natural maternal thing I could muster and I waited until she fell asleep.

I went in for my usual bedtime check-in, and she was happily slumbering. I found her knee and eyed up my victim. I wasn't sure if I should go fast or slow, given that she was probably going to stir a bit and I didn't want to miss my chance.

So I went with the fast approach. RIP!

And much to my surprise, she even exclaimed a bit and popped her eyes wide open.

Yikes! I hadn't expected that.

But then thankfully she just rolled over and drifted back off to sleep.

The next morning she found me when she was getting dressed and said "Mommy, my band-aid came off!". I told her it must have come off in her bed while she was sleeping. And sure enough, she went and found it, right where I left it under her sheets.

Then she showed up a minute later and said "Look mommy! I put another one on - it has Tigger on it!"

Fabulous.

Pooh and Tigger tattoo band-aids, Barbie band-aids, neon colored band-aids.

If you've got a boo-boo, come on over. We've got all kinds.

But not for long.