Late last night past whatever passes for bedtime in the summer, tween daughter showed me the abrasion on her knee sustained while swimming earlier in the day. It was the "lane rope monster" known for sheering the top layer of skin of even the best swimmer's hands, knees, etc. She asked for me to go get her a band-aid. Size? Medium. Our home is well stocked.
After checking to see that the wound was clean enough (no obvious debris), I applied the 2 inch bandage to the extensor surface of her knee, the "bendy" part. She bent it, as if checking, testing, and then admiring my work.
And then, with the complete absence of sarcasm (yes, even in a twelve year old) in this, the edge of the end of childhood, she asked if I went to special school to learn to apply band-aids that well.
For the degrees and formal schooling, it was 4 years college, 4 years med school, 3 years pediatric residency, plus public health and medical educator training along the way. And most importantly, time spent as a mom.