Reaching for the alarm, but it’s not the clock. Check the cell phone, but it’s not a text message. Grope for the cat, but she’s not beeping, either.
Oh yeah, how could I forget?
52 mg/dl. Not too low, but apparently I’ve over-corrected with those basal changes I made two days ago, and I need to retweak just a little bit.
Wandered out to the kitchen, leaving the BEEEEEEP!ing behind in the bedroom, and also leaving the tube of glucose tabs resting on the bedside table untouched. Make a beeline for the bottle of grape juice that sat, unopened, in the fridge.
I put it on the counter and tried to open it.
And you know, those freaking bottles are childproof when you are low in the middle of the night. I couldn’t break the seal on that white Ocean Spray cap for the life of me.
“Oh come on,” I muttered as I braced my hip against the counter and flexed my wrist against the bottle top. Abby circled, in shark-mode, meowing in support (or mocking me for not having the strength to open a freaking bottle of juice, but since she doesn’t meow in English, I’m going with “supportive.”)
Bottle cap didn’t budge. And despite the fact that the kitchen cupboard has three large jars of glucose tabs (in varying flavors, for my chalky pleasure) and a bottle of honey in it, I still pressed on with this stupid bottle.
BEEEEEEEEEP! from the bedroom.
“Open, you stupid thing!”
And the seal finally started to break, cracking open slowly and releasing like a loose tooth. I wasn’t too low, and I’m constantly wary of the highs while pregnant, so I just took three small sips. Abby meowed her congratulations, while Siah snickered behind her paw at my clumsy weakness. What is it about those lows in the wee hours of the morning that make my muscles into mushy oatmeal?
Next time, I’m eating the glucose tabs. It’s less embarrassing.
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*