Well, Charlie has officially gone continuous. He’s CGM-ing. He’s transmitting. He’s in real-time.

It started a little iffy in the doctor’s office when after the sensor was put on Charlie and connected to the transmitter, the green light that was supposed to come on, didn’t. Not for a while.

I found it a little unsettling that the technology we will be relying upon to keep our son healthy and safe only started working after futzing around with it for 20 minutes. We ended up using the old standby for just about any household appliance – unplug and plug back in.

When the educator demonstrated the insertion technique on a mushy belly prop, she pulled the needle out with sleight of hand, cupping it like a magician would a disappearing quarter so that Charlie wouldn’t be alarmed by its size.

Charlie turned toward me and squeezed my arms tight and clenched his teeth as Susanne pulled the trigger. He didn’t react to the initial pop, but did let out an "oooooooooohhhh!!!" when the needle was eased back out.

We were getting closer and getting anxious. Charlie was doing great.

Drumroll please ...

And ...

Nothin’.

After several attempts and gentle taps, the green light wouldn’t come on. We positioned Charlie around like an antenna to get a signal.

The educator was beginning to think it was the sensor. She seemed disappointed.

"What do you want to do?" she asked us.

The options weren’t ideal. Do it all over again - the numbing of his tush, the insertion of another sensor, the blood. Or, go home with the hope that the green light would magically come on if just given more time.

She really didn’t want to send us home without it working. Nor did we want to.

While the three adults were pondering this, Sir Charles the Brave chimed in.

"I don’t want to do it over again but I will."

The educator perked her head up and smiled, impressed with Charlie’s response.

And then, thankfully, the green light came on. We were in business.

Eight months into pumping, I still wanted to throw the thing in the garbage. The CGM experience so far has been very different. We felt the benefits of it almost immediately.

Like on Saturday at Charlie’s baseball game. What would have been three to five blood sugar checks a week ago was now just a glance at the pump screen. Seeing those numbers in the low 200s seemed to be the confirmation Charlie needed to ease his mind that he was not in danger of a low. And when the CGM showed a number in the low 100s with two arrows pointing down, we soon learned that this meant he was likely low. And he was.

After years of being in the dark, seeing those numbers pop up on the screen is just about the coolest thing ever. Charlie, of course, can’t take his eyes off of it. Nor can I. At the most, the numbers have been off by about 30 to 35 points and at the least they’ve been off by two.

"I’m 164 and the CGM says 166!" Charlie shouted excitedly from the kitchen.

It’s early yet, but it’s already changing the way we, as a family, live with diabetes in our home. It’s changing the way we talk. It will certainly change the way I blog.

So far, so good.