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Posts tagged ‘Birdy’

“How is it going?”

“Oh, I had so much trouble even getting out of the house when my babies were little.  You seem like you have it all together,” said the physical therapist as she massaged the tendons in my arm to alleviate the inflammation (thanks, tennis elbow as a result of playing … baby tennis?)

I would have laughed really hard if she hadn’t been pressing on the ouchiest bits right then.

“Smoke and mirrors.  Also, you haven’t seen my house or my inbox, so hold your praise,” I replied, wincing as her fingertips worked their way between my tendons.

Nothing is “all together” these days.  Everything feels held together by minty floss, so it smells sort of nice but is flimsy and ready to split.  On the surface, there are appear to be people moving around in my house that are reasonably clean and fed, but scratch that surface and you’ll find so much mess.

I’m struggling to find some peace in this mess.  Laundry is a constant battle (one six year old who loves messy craft projects plus a little baby with reflux and spitty-uppiness plus a guy who works out a lot plus a woman who tries to work out and who also is a target of aforementioned spit-up) and there’s at least two laundry baskets with contents that require folding and putting away at any given moment.  Also, if you open the dryer, there’s probably a load of laundry in there, too, waiting to be discovered and cursed at.

And then there’s the medical stuff.  Coordinating care for Birdy and Chris is one thing, but now we have the little Guy and he sees the pediatrician once a month (he’s little, so we check on his weight regularly and also there’s that reflux thing that’s being monitored/treated), so there’s that added mess.  Also, I’m back in physical therapy for de Quervain’s tendonitis (this happened with Birdy, as well – more on that later this week) and also seeing a dermatologist regularly in efforts to beat back the Dexcom rash (more on that ASAP).  I’ve met with a local endo and a new primary care doctor, as well, debating which to keep and where to keep trying. Lots of EOBs and calls to my medical insurer and let’s not forget the ebb and flow of diabetes supplies like insulin, test strips, Dexcom sensors, pump supplies, blood pressure medication, and all the other shit.  The phone feels permanently stuck to my ear and I’m on hold a lot.

Not to mention my lovely email inbox, which is brimming with interesting stuff that I can’t wait to dive into but sometimes comes to a boil in there because it can take me a full hour to answer one email.  (I’ve been doing a little bit of writing, though, and that’s felt good.  Sometimes it’s through the Notes feature on my phone, or in a long text message to myself, but it is happening.  Funny how creative juices flow alongside breastmilk at 4 am.)

Sleep is still at a minimum lately, with my son reverting back to his waking up every three hours for the last few nights, making us both a drooling mess at times during the day.  The lack of sleep is causing brain stalls, and I’ll stand in the middle of the kitchen wondering where the hell my keys are only to find them the hell in my hand.

I’m feeling very mired in motherhood details these days, and while I’m entirely grateful for the chance to parent these two littles, sometimes I’m a little burnt out on the daily tasks.  The list of items I want to tackle every day grows and I find myself only ticking off one or two items at a time instead of charging through the list with a face full of iced coffee and a pitchfork of productivity.  I’m itching to travel again, to get out and be working in full, proving to myself that I’m able to love and raise my children while also loving and raising my career.

“How is it going?” is a question many people ask, and sometimes my response is to show them my silly daughter and my smiling son and beam with pride.  Or my response is an exasperated sigh and a mention of house crap that’s gone undone.

Unfortunately sometimes it feels like the right thing to reply with is the “smoke and mirrors” claim, like I’m not able to say, “Some stuff is a disaster but I am doing really well with lots of other stuff.”  I have to force myself to step back from what I perceive as “the mess” and realize that I am doing a lot, and loving a lot of it, and allowing things like un-emptied driers and missed phone calls to be forgiven.

Sweet boy

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

Is it all together here?  Oh hell no.  Have I taken some very long and unintentional breaks from blogging and answering emails and putting on matching socks?  Oh hell yes.  But my focus is different these days.  It’s been more about talking with my daughter about her day at school and working on a craft project with her.  Or holding my son close after he’s done eating and tracing the side of his chubby cheek with my fingertip.  Or taking a morning to go work and leaving all housework and kids in the care of trusted family and friends.

It’s not all together, but it’s not all smoke and mirrors, either.  It’s all hard work.  And love.  And the constant ding of the dryer.

Word Choice.

“Mom, why do you wear that bracelet again?”

She knows why, but every few months, she asks again.  Why do I wear a medical alert bracelet?  Why is that thing as important to leaving the house as having my keys?

“I wear it because it says I have diabetes, just in case someone needs to know.”

“Why would they need to know?”

“In case I wasn’t able to say it myself.  Like if we happened to be in an accident or something, or if I was asleep.”

She thinks about this.

Medical alert bracelet #diabetes

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

“Is this why we have a house phone?”

“Yes.”  She knows the reason but asks anyway.  We decided to get a landline telephone in the event that there was a storm that knocked the power out, or if we had a babysitter and needed to call the house.  Or if my husband or children ever needed to call 911 on my behalf.  “We have a house phone on the waaaaay off chance that I’d have trouble waking up because of a low blood sugar.  You know, if I was passed out.”

I forget that the words we use matter.  That they are easily confused and conflated.  That she’s just a little kid.

“Passed out?!!”

“Yes, but that’s a very rare thing.  It hasn’t ever happened to me.  It probably won’t ever happen, but it’s smart to be prepared, just in case.”

“PASSED OUT?!!!”

It was then that I remember hearing her and her friend talking about her friend’s grandmother, who had recently passed away.

“OUT, honey.  Not AWAY.  Passed out means I would be having trouble waking my brain and body up and need extra help.  Not dead.  It’s very different,”  I scooped her up and held her close, aiming to hug the panic away from her as I listed all the reasons why passed out was different from passed away and also how it wouldn’t ever happen to me, right?  Right.

The reality of my own thoughts every night before bed stood in contrast to the confidence in my voice talking to Birdy.  The thought is fleeting, but also sharp and cuts through my mettle, reminding me that diabetes looks easy and seems quiet but exists with an undercurrent of worry.

And I’m learning that I’m not the only one who worries.

Just Past Three.

Mr. Guy Smiley,

Hallelujah!!!  You have started SLEEPING and it makes me want to hit the caps lock and sing your praises.  Thank you, sweet boy, for finally deciding that nighttime is the best time to sleep.  I don’t even care if you ever nap predictably during the day because you sleep at night.  (Remind me I said that.)  Your else close around 8.30 pm, you sleep until about 11.30 pm, you wake to eat, and then you’re lights out until 7.30 the next morning.  THANK YOU.  I can tie my shoes again without becoming confused.  I remembered how to use the coffee maker.  I don’t cry while brushing my teeth.  HallelujahHallelujahHallelujah!!!

And not only are you sleeping, but you’re such a happy guy when you wake up.  Instant smiles, instant cooing, kicking your legs and flapping your arms like the happiest chicken there ever was.  You remind me so much of your sister with your morning joyousness, but you bring your own smiley guy flair to things.

We spent a lot of time together, you and I.  Big sister Birdy flies off to school every morning and Dad zips off to work, leaving you and I to try and make sense of the loads of emails, loads of laundry, and loads of diapers.  (That last one?  Ew.  Love you, but ew.)  You and I have done at least a dozen conference calls together, two or three video calls (those are tricky), and you’ve come to your first conference with me.  (Note:  Thanks, Tandem, for not thinking I was weird for bringing my mom and son to a conference with me, and to TCOYD for making my infant feel like part of the party.)  Working alongside you is a little complicated and sometimes distracted, but I’m inspired to keep pushing my boundaries because I want you to know that your mom is fueled by many interests and passions.  Just as I want you to be interested in so many different things.

For now, you’re most interested in talking.  And this little lion blanket thing that you have set your sights on gumming to death.  You also want to go for walks around the neighborhood in your stroller as often as we can, and you love, love being worn in the baby bjorn thing.  Just recently, we flipped you around in that baby carrier so that you face out and are able to see the world (instead of staring at my collarbone).  You love EVERYTHING.  I love that about you.

The Batman.

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

You also love eating, and I’m still working to feed you.  You had a little trouble gaining weight at the outset (a combination of reflux plus falling asleep while eating), and even though I preferred to feed you myself, I had to start pumping breastmilk and using a bottle to ensure that you were getting a set number of ounces per feeding.  That’s kind of the system we’re still rocking at the moment – I feed you two or three times a day myself and the rest of your meals are via bottle.  My days are marked by three hour windows where I either check my blood sugar and then feed you or check and then pump. This means I am constantly pumping (insulin pump plus breast pump equals oh so many pumps) and constantly concerned about the stash of milk in our fridge.  I have ambitions of keeping you on breastmilk for several more months and I hope I can keep up the supply.  So far, I meet your needs.  (And even though I’m not one for supplements, etc. I am drinking a cup of this tea every day.  It might be helping.  It’s not hurting, at least.  And I’m developing a taste for black licorice as a weird side effect.)

Postpartum body blargh is in full effect, as you’re a little over three months old and I have not been on the ball in terms of self-care.  I am working to focus more on my diet in a consistently healthy way (eff off, pie … no wait, come back!!) and I’ve just recommitted to my exercise routine.  I have (blond) ambitions of burning any and all shapewear crap by next June.  Or, at the very least, feeling more like myself by then.

(Why am I writing about breastfeeding and postpartum body images in these letters to you?  Well, part of the reason why people read this blog is because I chronicle diabetes stuff, and it all plays in.  You’ll understand more when you’re older and you tune into the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time writing on the Internet.  I know, it’s weird.  Especially since we now have MentalNet, where you simply blink your eyes and your thoughts auto-publish to the cloud.  Man, picturing the future of the Internet is terrifying.)

We have plans to introduce you to some of our dearest-but-most-far-flung friends this month and you’re spending plenty of time with your aunts and your grandmas. Oh, and you’ll spend your first Christmas on the outside, with your sister very much looking forward to sharing the excitement of Christmas morning with you. You’re very, very loved, kiddo.  You’re a little over three months old but you’ve owned real estate in my heart for ages.

(And thank you for falling asleep at night and sleeping for several hours.  Seriously.  All of me thanks you.  🙂 )

Love,
mom

“How do you explain diabetes to her?”

“How do you explain diabetes to her?”

How do you explain diabetes to your kid?  I wish there was a strategy, a predictable path that conversations about health and wellness could take, like when my daughter brings out The Game of Life and I want to replace all the normal life stuff with the diabetes versions I marked as milestones along the way.

  • First time checking my blood sugar on my own.
  • First time giving my own shot.
  • Explained diabetes to a new friend.
  • Went to a sleepover and my mom didn’t come with me.
  • Earned my driver’s license and permission to get a car after proving I would check my blood sugar every time before driving.
  • Going to the endocrinologist by myself.
  • Moving out and living alone.
  • Managing emotional and physical diabetes-related complications.
  • Creating a family (this would earn me more people in my little car, right?  “People” being the little matchstick shaped things you shoved into the plastic car.)
  • Living beyond diabetes.

Trouble is, there’s no set path that diabetes takes, even with the best intentions and optimal care.  And the milestones aren’t always triumphant.  I’d be inclined to roll again if I landed on the “Manage diabetes distress pockets” or “Deal with health-related discrimination” spaces.

How do I talk about the emotional stuff tied to diabetes without shuffling those emotions right onto my daughter?  When she asks questions like, “Does diabetes scare you?” or “Are you afraid I’ll get diabetes, too?” I’m reaching to roll again.

How do I explain diabetes to my most beloved Bird?  I don’t.  Not entirely.  We have conversations about normal things, with diabetes built into the context clues.  When she was very small, we talked about how she should not push the buttons on mommy’s pump.  As she grew up, we talked about why I wore an insulin pump and other mom’s did not.  Sometimes conversations about low blood sugars came up and we dealt with those as part of the moment instead of scheduling a sit-down discussion with flash cards and a quiz at the end.

But she’s tuned in, and she notices things.  And in the last year or so, she’s elected herself captain of my support team.  If my Dexcom low alarm goes off, she drops everything she’s going and comes over and wraps her arms around my waist.  I don’t know what prompts her to do this – sometimes I think it’s the vacant look in my eyes when I’m low that makes her feel the need to double-check on me.

“Does this help, Mom?”

“It does,” I say, through a mouthful of candy corn.  “You help.”

If she were to list five things about her mom, diabetes might be on that list.  But it comes with expectations of conferences at Disney World and friends around the world, and sure, there are doctor’s appointments and moments where I need a few extra minutes and sometimes I am distracted by the need to reapply a sensor or prick my finger and all these things that beep, but that’s life with this disease. Diabetes is a cumbersome to do list that comes with a monster under the bed who I don’t often make eye contact with.

But we manage.

Explaining diabetes to her is its own challenge.  But sometimes, through her eyes, she re-explains diabetes to me.

 

What Happens to Your Brain When You Don’t Sleep.

There’s a little boy who lives in my house now and he seems to likes us.  He likes his big sister and he likes his mom and dad and he likes the cats.  He likes socks.  And fluffy blankets when we go on walks.  And he loves taking naps while the sun shines through the living room windows.

All awesome.

What he doesn’t like is sleeping during the night.  He fucking hates that.

As a result, we are not sleeping at night, either.  The dance of feed/change/snuggle/attempt sleep/feed/change/snuggle is endless throughout the night, making the baggage under my eyes significant and the days are starting to blend together into one, big diaper change.  My mind is on a sad circuit of this monkey:

But this is a diabetes blog.  So how’s the diabetes stuff going?  There might not be sleep, but is the brain responding to diabetes related requests?

Shit, the same gif.  That’s not optimal.

Diabetes is still there.  I still have it.  It didn’t “go away after I had the baby.”  And sometimes, throughout the day, I have myself fooled into thinking I’m on top of things.

But I’m sort of not.

Stuff I’m not on top of:  

Blood sugar checks are not happening as often as they were, or as they should be.  I’m checking my fasting blood sugar (making a point to do it immediately upon waking, because once I’m out of bed, I space out), but that’s sometimes it until after lunch time.  Not optimal once again.

Exercise is also not happening, but that’s because I’m still under the lock-and-key of the c-section.  My six week follow up is in two weeks and I’m hoping to be cleared for exercise, etc. but until then, I’m doing slow walks around the neighborhood with the tomato in the stroller and hoping my scar doesn’t rip open and all my guts spill out.  (This is a mental image I have with frightening regularity.)

Food remains a challenge, as well.  Weirdly enough, I’m having trouble eating enough these days (a stark contrast to my delight at eating too much a few weeks ago) and my spotty food intake is making breastfeeding a little bit of a challenge.  (As in, I produce less on days that I consume fewer calories.  It’s a frustrating tell.)  I am trying to make more grabby, healthy snacks (see also:  balls) so I’m able to eat on the fly without too much effort.

But this will all come with time.  Or so the mystics tell me.

Hey, but there is stuff I’m still on top of:

I’m still using the Dexcom every day,and that data is keeping me informed on how SWAG-gy my boluses have been.  My graphs have been all over the place, but I chalk that up to hormones re-balancing after giving birth, insulin:carb ratios being tweaked for postpartum needs, and a sleep schedule that is abysmal.

I’m also on top of my doctor’s appointments.  As I mentioned a few days ago, I’m building a hyper-local care team from the ground up and I’ve been on the ball about finding doctors, scheduling appointments, and working to flesh out the team.  So far, so good.

And I’m staying on top of what my kids need.  Laundry is all clean (granted, not folded and put away,  but all clean and a lovely, sorted mountain of clean it is!).  I have a steady flow of breastmilk being stashed in the freezer (in anticipation of upcoming travel, Grammie visits, and overnight feedings that Chris handles).  The Bird is being shuttled to friends’ houses and soccer practice and school without missing a beat.  My son is fed, diapered, and hugged a bunch, and is a very laid-back (albeit nocturnal) baby.  I might have only JUST NOW sat down to answer emails and work today, but my frigging KIDS are managed, so I’m calling today a mangled version of success.

Soon – SOON?! – we will be reunited with sleep.  Just in time for the time (and lancet) change.

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