Today is World Diabetes Day.

It's also ten years (give or take) since Olivia's diagnosis.

So on this worldwide day of recognition, I'm going to talk about my daughter. She's 13 now, but still sleeps with a teddy bear - the Rufus bear she got shortly after diagnosis. She also sleeps with a pump attached to her pyjamas and a meter next to her bed.

I often go into her room late at night to check her blood sugar. She is not an easy kid to check, much preferring to burrow under the covers than to give up a hand to be poked. But poke her I do, and bolus her if need be, treat a low if that's what's needed.

She plays soccer, not very well, but with abandon. She loves Hannah freakin' Montana and High School Musical and talking to her friends on Meebo.

She's funny and moody and silly and acts like pretty much any other 7th grade girl. Except at all times, she's aware of how she feels, notices if she feels low, checks her blood sugar religiously and has known how to count carbs since she was 5 years old.

Today when I picked her up from school, I watched as she crossed the road, pump bouncing on her hip, ponytail bobbing, head tilted and mouth going a mile a minute as she chattered and giggled with her friend. Unconciously, almost, she slung her bag around, grabbed her kit and checked her blood sugar. Her mouth never stopped moving, her free hand gesticulated and she laughed about something. She glanced at her meter, pushed buttons on her pump and never even stopped - just kept on being a kid, being herself.

It squeezes my heart that this is just part of her life. I'm glad that it doesn't seem to impeed her in any way, but still. Still. It makes me sad to think that this is her life, her future, unless and until there is a cure. A life of finger pokes and infusion changes and constant vigilance.

No kid should have to live that way. But until there's a cure, they do.