I ruined band-aids

In what I thought was a brilliant piece of parenting, when Claire went in for two-year-old shots I told her Nurse Sue was going to give her band-aids.  She did.  But not before she gouged her chubby leg flesh with four needles.  For two weeks afterward, Claire would grow weepy and recall "Sue gave me band-aids, Mommy!  Sue gave me band-aids!  I don't like band-aids!"  Here we are, two months later, and Claire is deathly afraid of band-aids.  She must associate them with pinching pain.  If she skins her knees (which she does frequently) she will gladly flaunt chunky scabs and skip a band-aid.  One night, I thought that I would help her conquer her fear through immersion.  So, without warning, I plopped a pink princess band-aid over perfectly smooth baby skin.  She was terrified.  She bawled and begged for me to "hold her band-aid" so she couldn't see it.  I grew so tired of gripping her leg for two hours straight that I firmly tugged it off so I wouldn't hear her terror.  This did not help matters.  So, now we have a toddler with a gisnt-sized fear of band-aids who constantly points them out on her sister with trepidation.  And that is the story of how I ruined band-aids.