Why Motherhood Made Me Hate Band-Aids

Before I became a mom to toddlers, I had a pretty simple relationship with Band-Aids — as in, if I cut myself shaving, I'd hope I could find one stashed somewhere in my bathroom. The odds were about 50-50 that I'd find a plain, beige bandage of some size and shape in one of my drawers; if not, I'd apply a wet piece of toilet paper and hope my clotting abilities were strong that day. This situation happened maybe once every few months, and the 30 seconds or so I was dealing with it was the only time I ever thought about Band-Aids. Those were the good old days.

Oh, how times have changed. These days, I think about Band-Aids every single d*mn day. Why, you parents of children who haven't discovered the joys and wonders of the Band-Aid may ask? Are your children accident-prone? Constantly scraping their knees? Do you not lock up your scissors and knives well enough? No, no, and no.

In reality, I blame Johnson & Johnson, the company that makes those beige Band-Aids we grown-ups occasionally need and probably rarely purchase. In a brilliant move designed to up those paltry profits, the company also makes a new set of Band-Aids for every Disney movie, cartoon, and character that my kids might like. Those are the Band-Aids I'm talking about. I buy them in bulk for around $3 for a box of 20 every single time I go to Target (so, like every other day) because my kids freak out if I refuse. Seriously, my kids get as excited about the Band-Aid aisle as they do the toy section.

Currently we have Star Wars, Dory, Lightning McQueen, and Inside Out-themed Band-Aids in my cupboard (those four boxes will probably last us a week). Last week, my daughter put a whole box of off-brand "metallic tattoo" bandages on her arms and legs, then made a beautiful piece of art with a box of Oh Joy Band-Aids and our gas bill.

See, Johnson & Johnson has figured out that cuts and scrapes are not the way to make money with Band-Aids. Kids are. While I look at a Band-Aid and simply see a way to cover and protect my latest dinner-prep wound, my kids see stickers, decorative accessories, and play opportunities.

Half of my 3-year-old son's toys are covered in partially scraped-off bandages (they aren't nearly as easy to remove from plastic as they are from skin, their intended target). Apparently Hulk and Iron Man have boo-boos, too. A lot of them. And don't get me started on how many Band-Aids I've had to rip off my rugs and remove from walls and cabinets. There are still a few lingering on my car's interior. And of course, it's not just the sticky part of the Band-Aid that I have to clean up. I constantly find the wrappers and backings behind every piece of furniture in my house.

Why, you might ask, don't you just ban Band-Aids? To that question, I point to one of my favorite motherhood phrases: pick your battles. Because Band-Aids might be annoying as hell, and I might have to rip one off a plastic Batman when I really need it, but $3 to keep my kids happy at Target and quiet and entertained for a few minutes at home while they cover themselves in Mickey Mouse stickers made just for their skin? Well, that's a price I'm willing to pay.