We have reached peak level band aid obsession in our household, to the point where I am considering limiting band aid access just like I limit screen time and sweets. Also, the refusal to wash while wearing band aids is a PROBLEM. Not to mention, it’s a pretty expensive habit.
Please tell me I am not the only mom doling out band aids like a crack dealer who works for free??? Why do my kids love them so much?
Here are the seven levels of a band aid addiction:
Your child owns a few character themed band aids like Dora, Hello Kitty and the Muppets. She doesn’t mind wearing band aids because she likes the characters but does not ask for them other then when she has a legitimate reason.
Your husband buys a box of princess themed band aids, thinking he is doing his daughter a service. Instead she becomes super selective about which princesses are allowed to cover her cuts and bruises. You find yourself holding wrapped band aids up to the light to discern whether it is the coveted Ariel band aid. You successfuly convince her to wear Cinderella and then applaud yourself as if you’ve just taught her to read. Belle has been rejected so many times, you put those in a separate pile designated for her little sister. Tears start to flow. Not because she is in pain, but because you have ripped back the paper and revealed *gasp* JASMINE.
Your daughter refuses to wash one hand because she doesn’t want to ruin her Ariel band aid. After several battles with her about this, you just accept it. She begins to call you after bedtime claiming she is injured. You run in because you think she might actually be hurt, but no, she is never hurt. She just wants more band aids. You oblige anyway, because YOU CAN’T TAKE THE SCREAMING.
It’s been over a week since she has washed her left hand. She actually took a bath with her hand held above the water the entire time. She continues requesting band aids for boo-boos you don’t believe really exist. “See????” she says as she shows you a tiny white scratch below her knee as if it were a gaping hole that will not stop bleeding. “Are you sure you need a band aid?” “Yes mom! It hurts, it hurts!!!!” You realize this means she is going to refuse to wash her leg too.
You now judge the seriousness of her injuries based on whether she is willing to accept a non-princess themed band aid. She cut her foot at a friend’s house and screamed louder when she was presented with a plain band aid than she did when she originally got hurt. A friend saves the day with a box of Doc McStuffins but then all comes crashing down when your daughter realizes the only two band aids left are Hallie Hippo. You find yourself silently cursing the maker of Band Aids— Why can’t you just make them all Doc McStuffins??? What kid wants Lambie or Hallie Hippo??? Later that night, she screams when you force her to submerge the foot with the band aid. “But it will get ruined!” You notice how she didn’t say the soapy water will hurt her cut, she said her band aid would get ruined. “But you don’t even like Hallie Hippo!” She looks at you like you are crazy. Your younger daughter who has been witnessing her big sister’s growing addiction begins to request band aids too. She doesn’t even try to pretend she is really hurt. But you oblige because it’s easier than explaining to a baby why you won’t just wrap a band aid around her finger.
Your daughter becomes enraged when she catches you wearing a Snow White band aid on your thumb. “It was all we had!” you yell in your defense. You neglect to mention that unlike her, you were ACTUALLY BLEEDING. “That’s my second favorite!!!” she screams like it’s a valid argument. You tell her you will make a late night run to Target to replenish your supply. Unfortunately, Target is out of princess band aids and you must choose between Mickey Mouse and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You are afraid to return to your own home.
Both your daughters scream for band aids after bedtime in unison now. Your older daughter insists on putting them on herself which makes you tense up as you watch her accidently crumple one side rendering it useless. “NO!!!!! You are wrecking Ariel!!!!!” you shout in your own head as if you have bought into the importance. She says she messed it up and requests another. You fumble through the box to find the last of the Ariels. “PLEASE LET ME DO IT!” you shout knowing there will be hell to pay if she messes this one up too. Three minutes after you have it all worked out and leave the room, you hear your younger daughter start screaming. You rush in, concerned, but realize she just pulled off her band aid and wants another. You go through a pack a night. Your baby wakes up with them stuck in her hair. While walking down the sidewalk, your older daughter scrapes her chin. She insists on a band aid even though it’s not bleeding. “Let’s just clean it off— I don’t have any band aids on me.””NO MOM, IT HURTS!!!!” There is a drugstore across the street and you run in to get a box. You put a band aid on her chin as requested. It looks ridiculous. She points to a scrape on her knee. You put one there too. In addition to the band aids she’s already wearing, there are now five total. A Cinderella band aid on her chin, a Mickey Mouse on her knee, a Snow White on her other knee, an Ariel on her finger and a Hallie Hippo on her foot. Only one of them is really necessary. You are now embarrassed to walk down the street with your own daughter. You don’t take a picture of the whole spectacle, because you assume one day it will embarrass her too.
At least you hope so.
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