Just a Band-Aid

There’s something so entertaining about watching her run to the designated bathroom drawer each time she acquires a slight boo-boo, fixated on the one solution to her pain. I particularly love it when a Band-Aid perches atop her frizzy curls, almost a full inch from the supposed boo-boo on her head, its healing powers still intact.

If someone offends her, it’s the Band-Aid she seeks for reassurance and safety. If she’s scared, the Band-Aid will of course fix all.

“She’s so covered in Band-Aids, she could be a mummy,” I commented to my husband the other day. And it’s true — once applied, she’s reluctant to remove the Band-Aids. If said Band-Aid begins to curl at its dirty little edge, slowly hinting at its expiration, our little girl will cry out in utter panic.

“Band-Aid off!” she screams, her voice high pitched and plagued with deep anguish. This call can come at any time, even at two or three in the morning, when the house is silent and all its inhabitants contentedly sleeping.