Band Aid

Lately, the boy looks like a mummy, or a civil war combatant... if Johnny Reb or King Tut used bandages with prints of Big Bird on them. My kid is, in a phrase, stuck on bandaids. What is it with kids and bandaids, anyway?

The slightest bump or brush with an immovable object requires an entire covering of protection. Every possible injury, visible or not, must receive a bandage. He will brook no denial. Temper flares, fits are thrown, screaming ensues if it is even hinted that perhaps a bandaid is unneeded. Frequently, the boy will, when at last we throw our hands in the air and agree to his demands, be unable to locate the original injury. He'll scan himself from toe to nose, shoulder to wrist desperately trying to find the damage he had so recently suffered. When he finally settles on a spot he's certain is the one that caused him pain it's usually unmarked and nowhere near the original insult. Of course, the mere application of the bandaid immediately relieves his misery and he toddles off, pleased beyond belief at the miraculous healing powers of that sticky piece of plastic.

Originally we were enormously grateful for the placebo effect. A tearful, hurting little boy with a bloody, scraped knee could be satisfied quickly and efficiently, which is a good thing. Those bandaids served their purpose well. Soon, however, he began to require more and more. Old wounds, completely healed remained bandaged as new ones were added. If per chance, a bandaid slips from his skin while in the bathtub, prepare to meet the apocalypse; "AHHHHHH! My bandaid! It gone!! AHHHHHHHHH!" The promise of a new clean one barely comforts him, and the wound - the completely healed, bandaged for two weeks, wound - explodes into fresh pain without the magical properties of a bandage. This is not a pleasant phase and it's one that none of the books have bothered to address.

It's costing us a fortune in bandages - like he cares - and to be honest, he is becoming rather unattractive. Our great fear is that he will get noticed by someone from Child Protective Services; "Uh, he just likes bandaids... really." So far we've refused all requests to apply them to his hair or his mouth. He, at least for the moment, accepts our arguments for that, but who know how long it will last.

The other night, as we got him into his pajamas, I noticed an old dirty bandaid that had covered a legitimate scrape he'd gotten two weeks earlier. The bandage was nasty, the wound was long healed; it was time to come off. The trouble was, it had been there so long it was stuck. It ended up leaving a couple of marks on his skin and, of course, hurt him when it was removed. He screamed. Yeah, you can see it coming, can't you? He has two new bandaids.

I hope this passes soon.