My first memory was of my grandma Edna. She was over at the house babysitting me while mom and dad were out. We played dolls together. She was the grandma, naturally, and I was the baby's mom. At one point, I was pretending to swing my baby high up in the air to make it laugh and dropped her on her head. I began to pretend that the baby was wailing, screaming with pain and anguish. Grandma immediately knew what to do: she walked to the kitchen and grabbed a band-aid, then held it out to me and asked, "Would this make baby feel better?"
I replied, "Yes!"
Baby, grandma, and I played together all day long. A few years later, after grandma died, I decided baby was healed and it was time for the band-aid to come off. The baby sported a black ring around the area where the band-aid used to be until it came time for someone else to enjoy baby. She was given away to the local TACOL and I continued to live with this as just a memory.
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