The kid is mobile now, and with that mobility comes the baby-proofing of our home. We have those little electrical socket covers on each outlet, the coffee table corners are capped with squishy edges, and a big ol' gate at the base of our staircase is locked and loaded. So now, anything that BSparl shouldn't touch for fear of hurting herself is as carefully guarded as possible.
And I wish I could say the same for me.
Will power is not my middle name. (It's "Morrone," switched from "Lynn" when I got married.) I'm good when it comes to action-oriented plans, like resolving to test my blood sugar more often throughout the day, or making sure I exercise at least four times a week. These plans involve getting up and doing something, and I'm motivated when it comes to checking that box.
But the plan to NOT do something? Little more challenging.
Food has always been a bit of an issue for me. Not surprising, since type 1 diabetes has a firm foothold in my dietary decisions and guilt about said decisions. (Sneaking cookies? I may have done that one or two ... thousand times as a kid.) Growing up with type 1 diabetes and using the peaking insulins (NPH, Lente, UltraLente) that required timed meal structure, I was a card-carrying member of the "clean your plate or you will end up low" club. It actually wasn't until I started using an insulin pump that I realized what "hungry" felt like, having been on an eating schedule for the previous seventeen years. Adjusting to the fact that I didn't HAVE to eat was new.
In addition to that "Hey, hunger is confusing!" feeling, food is a confusing friend/enemy. Frenemy. Even at times when my blood sugars are completely in control and an Italian bread smothered in olive oil and salt indulgence-fest doesn't cause massive spikes, I still feel guilty about eating it. Like someone is watching me, and I need to hurry up and swallow before they see me take the bread. It's a very screwed up way to view something as fun and delicious as food, but it's a combination of the influence of diabetes on my food philosophy and the guilt assigned to something as benign as a banana. (That, and how women are taught to view their bodies and their appetites of all kinds ... but that's a whole different post.)
Which brings me back to my problem: not doing something. Avoiding certain foods at certain, inopportune diabetes times. Not eating the bowl of pineapple when the Dexcom shows double arrows pointing up. (Why IS it that high blood sugar equals ravenous hunger? Seems like a cruel twist to me ...) Not buying E.L. Fudge cookies. And if you do buy them, not eating a whole sleeve on the ride home from the grocery store.
Sometimes I want to Kerri-proof the kitchen.
Maybe I should just stick an electrical socket cover in my mouth.