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What I Want Her To Know About Diabetes

After a tough low this morning:

I want her to know that she was wanted so much, well before she arrived, and that her parents went to great lengths to make sure her arrival was as safe as they could manage.

I want her to know that those moments when she has to wait while I test, or while I bolus, or the times when I have to set her in her crib and gulp down grape juice while she stands there with her big, brown eyes staring at me while her mouth tugs into an impatient smile, that I love her and I just need to deal with diabetes for a few seconds so I can be the best mommy I can.

I want her to know that if my eyes don’t get better, it’s not her fault. It’s not my fault, either. The fault lies with diabetes.

I want her to know that the reason I’ll sometimes frown at a soggy diaper or a voracious pull from the bottle isn’t because she’s being “bad” or doing something wrong, but because I’m worrying.

I want her to know that just because I have it, and because some of her best buddies have it, doesn’t mean that she will have it. But I also want her to know that if a diagnosis of any kind ever touches her life, we’ll manage just fine and take the best care of one another that we can.

I want her to know that when she smiles at me, it’s like a thousand online communities inspiring me all at once. That the hope of her was once the biggest incentive to improve my health, only to be superseded by her arrival in my arms.

I want her to know that regardless of what she may hear about this “diabetes,” her mommy is going to be just fine. Just fine.

*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*

A Parking Lot “Low”

Part of me would love to ride in one of these down a steep hill.  The other part of me wants to live.“Brrrrr…it’s a little chilly outside today,” I said to BSparl as I tucked her blanket snug around her wiggly little self in the car seat. She waved at me and showed me her sock.

“Yes, that’s a nice sock, birdy. Okay, let’s get out of here and get you into the car so we can go home!”

The automatic doors parted and a brisk gust of wind came and skipped down my collar. With the baby’s car seat safely tucked into the belly of the carriage, I ventured out to find my car in the massive parking lot. 

“Ha ha, where did Mommy leave the car?” I said out loud, walking up and down the parking lot aisles and pressing the alarm on my keys. Nothing. No flashing lights, no subtle little “beep” noise from my Honda. Nothing but a sea of cars and I had no idea which one was mine.

“Am I getting old?” I asked BSparl. “Mmmmmm!”  she proclaimed, raising her teething toy into the air.

I walked for several minutes, combing the lot for my car. And the wind kept whipping, only this time it felt good because it kept whisking the sweat off the nape of my neck. I felt dizzy. Read more »

*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*

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