Your mama so awesome that she dragged measuring cups and a tiny scale to restaurants so she could accurately carb count your food.

Your mama so awesome that she hand-fed you graham crackers while you had a logic-defying low on the kitchen floor.

Your mama so awesome she woke up in the middle of the night to check your blood sugar, to keep you safe and to keep diabetes from waking YOU up.

Your mama so awesome she took time off from work for all the field trips, school events, and overnights so that you would be carefully monitored without missing out on the fun.

Your mama so awesome she drove home between dinner and the movie so that she could check your blood sugar and give you insulin.

Your mama so awesome that she said “We need to check our blood sugar” because despite the lancet not pricking her skin, she still felt her version of every number.

Your mama so awesome she gave you your insulin shot even though you were hiding behind the dining room curtains, even though you cried, even though it was hard.

Your mama so awesome she sought out and sent you to a diabetes camp so you could find your community and feel a different-but-necessary sense of home.

Your mama so awesome that she only kicked a hole in ONE blue bin that ONE time.

Your mama so awesome that when you were pregnant and stayed over at her house, she came into your room in the middle of the night to try and make sense of the Dexcom receiver and the data it was providing.

Your mama so awesome also because she continues to call your CGM a “GPS.”

Your mama so awesome that she was mad when you told her that the blog posts can be set to auto-publish.  “That’s how I knew you were okay every day!  I didn’t know you could write them ahead of time!”

Your mama so awesome she calls you while your husband is traveling to “see if you watched the TV show” but really she just wants you to answer the phone and confirm your continued existence.

Your mama so awesome that she came up to the hospital the first time you had a c-section in part because she wanted to meet her granddaughter but also because her baby was having an operation and she wanted to be there.

Your mama so awesome that she watched that granddaughter so you could go have another c-section to bring her grandson into the world.

Your mama so awesome that she hears your meter BEEP or the Dexcom wail and doesn’t freak out, but casually stares at you without making it seem like she’s staring until you grab some juice, God damn it.

Your mama so awesome that when you think about growing up with diabetes, you aren’t saddled with overwhelming memories about feeling different, or unsupported, or defined by this disease.  Instead, you remember the life that diabetes is part of.  And you’ve carried that mindset into adulthood.  You can make some sense of this disease because she supported, and continues to support, the whole of you.

Your mama so awesome.

(Thank you, Mom.)

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