BandAids

the magic BandAid

This was 8 days in. Still holding strong-- both the BandAid and her will. 

A couple weeks ago Blythe was playing with her cousins when she fell [no surprise-- girl has the grace of an elephant]. Her oldest cousin, Caroline, swiftly ran to retrieve a BandAid. I told my sister there was no point, as Blythe typically throws more of a fit about having to actually wear a BandAid than the injury itself. [Which is strange, I know. Most parents want to buy stock in BandAids when they see how many their kids want to wear.]

But wouldn't you know? That five year old convinced Blythe to put it on.

Shortly after the BandAid was administered
And Blythe, your cousins have you beat BY MILES in the hair department. 

And on it stayed.
And stayed.
And stayed.

My parents apparently splurge on good BandAids because after several baths and many days, that bandaid had not moved. And Blythe did not want it to move! Multiple times a day she would frantically remind us, "Don't take off my BandAid!"

We went out for my birthday, so the girls went to bed at Brent's parents', and we had to do the fancy-dreaded double transfer to-the-car-to-their-beds thing. Blythe was passed out through most of it, until Brent laid her in her bed. Her eyes shot open and she said, "Don't take my BandAid off!" He assured her he wouldn't and she rolled over and was back asleep before he left the room.

Six days. Seven.
Eight.
Finally, Friday night rolled around and we told her that Saturday was the day the BandAid had to come off! The morning came and she remembered that we had told her that and oh.my.word you would have thought we had promised to torture her.

Finally, I semi-distracted her and told her Brent was just going to take off part of it and see if it was all better. Panic. But then, once he started [and of course, we had lied, took the entire thing off] she was totally fine. And then it was off. And she was chill. And it was no big deal.

Nine days? I secretly wanted to wait and see how long she would last  that magic BandAid would last.

Brent and I were talking one night during this time and he said, "You know? I was wondering what my "BandAids" are?" 

I knew exactly what he meant.

I don't know if Blythe was afraid it the removal would hurt, afraid her boo-boo would hurt again, afraid she'd be letting Caroline down if she took it off, or WHAT, but there was some fear there. And she was adamant. Bath times, something she typically enjoys, had become an ordeal because she was afraid the water would cause the BandAid to come off [and it does normally...I'm telling you: magic BandAid]. She would wake up in the morning and it was the first thing on her mind. When I would dress her, she would remind me multiple times that I couldn't take the BandAid off.

Two things stuck out to me:
/ her fear and attachment
/ her lack of trust in Brent and me

And that is why Brent asked that question. Because he knows we all have "BandAids" like this; he knows we all hold onto things because we are afraid it will hurt to let it go, or it will reveal other hurts, or that our relationships will change if we remove it.

He knows things we won't let go of can keep us from enjoying things we normally would and should enjoy.

He knows that by holding onto these things we begin to lose faith in those who have our best interests at heart--- we lose faith in The One who is taking care of us.

We grow fearful that someone will take it away when we aren't looking and we aren't sure what will happen to us without that thing. 

So we wear these things--these hurts, and addictions, and pride, and lust, and anger-- and we grow attached, and afraid, and we don't ever want to let them go. 

We finally got Blythe's BandAid off, and as you probably guessed she is totally fine. It wasn't a big deal. And now I can rest assured that her skin isn't turning green underneath. And she is enjoying her baths again. And not freaking out when getting dressed.

And Brent and I are still asking ourselves, what are my BandAids?