“Daddy….I have a boo-boo.”
“Daddy! I have a boo-boo!”
“DADDY! DADDY! I have a boo-boo!”
My daughter doesn’t actually have a boo-boo. What she has is a fascination with band-aids and a urgent need not to be in bed right now.
It’s kind of my fault, really. Many weeks ago, my daughter actually did have a boo-boo. She incurred it while my mother-in-law was watching my daughter over at her house in Madison. I, of course, had a minor meltdown. ”How could…What happened to…Where was…Helmets and Padding! My G-d, helmets and padding.”
My mother-in-law absorbed my crazy with the same grace that all seasoned parents exhibit when faced with a newcomer’s panic. “Oh Dan. You have no idea what’s in store for you…”
In any case, my daughter had a scab. For a week or so, we put bandages on her scab (or her crunchy as she called it) every night.
She became entranced with the whole process. Mostly because we had cool bandages with colors and pictures and Sponge Bob on them.
After her crunchy came off, she kept talking about her boo-boo. And I kept putting bandages on her knee.
Every night. For several months in a row now.
Most nights she talks about how she has a boo-boo as soon as she comes out of the tub.
Some nights she forgets until we’re reading our stories. Then I have to go back to the bathroom and get her bandages.
Some nights…some nights she forgets until after I leave the room. At that point she uses it as a ploy to try and get me back into the room and her to not have to go to sleep.
Tonight is one of those nights.
While I’ve been writing this, her howls of protests and boo-boos have grown less. In fact, I haven’t heard a peep out of her for two minutes, so I’m pretty sure she’s either asleep or nearly there.
Oops. It seems she still has a boo-boo.
