I thought it was a miracle. The day after Danny was born, my diabetes suddenly disappeared. I no longer had to test a dozen times a day. And the few times I did test, my blood sugar was perfect. Not low, not high, but normal. In that magic 70 to 120 non-diabetic range. My meter looked like those in the commercials. It was wonderful, but it didn't last long.

For the first few weeks at home with the boy, I was able to ignore my diabetes. Granted I didn't eat with abandon or anything, but it sure was nice not to worry about it. Not to have it be the first thought in the morning or the last thought before bed. To go a whole day-a whole week even-without once testing my blood sugar, estimating a carb count or taking insulin. Diabetes was but a fleeting thought.

Granted I had plenty of other things to think about. Getting to know my son. Healing from a C-section. Figuring out how to breastfeed. Managing on little or no sleep. Nature had to give me a break somewhere.

A few weeks into motherhood, the dust started to settle and it occurred to me that I haven't tested my blood sugar in a while. The disappearing fingertip calluses and missing forearm bruises were dead giveaways. Since I was told that my diabetes would go into temporary remission after the baby was born (or more accurately, after the placenta was out!), I wasn't too concerned.

Still, I knew I should at least take some random readings. And I was kind of looking forward to seeing nice numbers on my meter. But that didn't happen.

I started with a fasting reading, historically, my best readings of the day. It was higher than it's ever been. So I followed up with a few premeal readings-the only readings my doctor wants now that I'm not pregnant anymore-but they, too, were too high.

After two weeks of tracking, I sent the numbers to my doctor, who promptly called with the bad news: Prime that insulin pen, honey.

Well, it was a nice vacation while it lasted. But like all good vacations, it feels like it ended much too soon.