The Band Aid

Several months ago, L. skinned his nose when he fell from the front porch steps and biffed it on the concrete driveway. He has a pretty high pain tolerance, which has at times been a good thing, at other times a real problem. The thing is when he skinned his nose he insisted on wearing a band aid. Not to inconspicuous right there on his face. My husband and I attempted to put it across the tip of his nose, but he didn't want it that way. He wanted it front and center. The band aid was vertical right straight down the length of his nose.

Try explaining this to curious onlookers in public. It didn't end there. Whenever we tried to take it off he would freak out. We had to sneak in at night, while he was asleep, and remove it because it began to make a sore on his forehead where the adhesive from the band aid was beginning to pull at his skin. It finally somehow healed on its own. Band aids are the bane of my existence. I find them everywhere, stuck to the hard wood floors, stuck in the carpet, stuck on blankets, stuck in hair. Any time there is the slightest hint of a boo boo it requires a band aid. We have tried to hide them to no avail. Much like the scissors they just seem to be found, no matter where you tuck them away.