Band-aids ain't for sissies

In the last thirty-six hours, Clara has managed to get a large goose egg on her head (courtesy of an accidental golf club swing by a five-year-old boy), a burned and blistered index finger (from a flaming hot pizza pan), and two scraped knees (requiring four band-aids in total). Ah, to be a four-year-old . . .

The toughest part for Clara is getting Band-aids put on. Like most kids, she loves Band-aids, but she does not like having them on her skin. I'm figuring it's another sensory thing (she prefers to put them on Mr. Bear). So while the actual accident--in this case, the trip and subsequent knee abrasions--is painful, the treatment is almost more so. After I manage to get the Band-aids on her, she can ignore them but asks periodically to have them taken off (sometimes with great distress). Poor kid!

All I can say is I hope that she doesn't grow up with her mother's fabulous depth perception . . . it seems I am constantly running into door jambs or stubbing my toes. Ah, to be a grown-up . . .