I am sometimes disappointed by the things my body can't do or by the things my does because of my diabetes.  Like yesterday, when a downward cruising bloodsugar derailed my plans for a solid workout at the gym. 

I was let down by my body's inability to stabilize. 

I was let down by the fact that what has been working very well in terms of late afternoon/early evening basal dosing failed me.

And I was let down by the fact that even after juice and an early dinner of 40 carb grams with no bolus, I barely got thirty five minutes of exercise in before my rapidly dropping bloodsugar forced me to stop...

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It's 8:30 p.m. Sunday, Mother's Day, and I have yet to check my sugar today.

It started this morning when No. 1, who is 8, ordered me to stay in bed. I knew what was coming, and even though I suspected a not-so-yummy breakfast in bed, I obliged. To his credit, I got oatmeal, which is my staple breakfast. But, I didn't get a fasting sugar. Heck, I didn't even brush my teeth first. I just did what I was told. I knew it would be the only time today that anyone pampered me.

You see, we're preparing our house to put on the market. Yes, we're definitely missing a few screws to try to sell in this market, but with a new job in a new city, we kind of have to.

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"This," I said to my mom while pointing to the table full of mid-afternoon party food, "is exactly the kind of situation where I would really benefit from having a pump."

We were in my brother's dining room at his daughter's first-birthday party. The spread included crackers with an amazing cream cheese and pesto dip, mini chicken salad croissant sandwiches, fresh fruit, potato chips and dip and fresh veggies. To the untrained eye, there wasn't much that I should have stayed away from, but in reality there was just about nothing that didn't require insulin.

Mom looked a little confused. "But you'd still have to count carbs," she said.

"Well, yeah, of course," I said. "But that's not really the reason the pump would be so beneficial. I could eat and not have to excuse myself to take a shot."

She nodded in understanding. (READ MORE)

I think (man I hope I'm not jinxing this!) that I have nailed my walking routine. Not like I have figured out my route or when to go or anything like that. What I mean is that I think it's close to being a habit.

For example, several days last week my alarm was not set right--I'm pretty sure it was human error (*blush*)--but my internal clock (or my angels) still woke me up at 5:30 a.m. and I was able to go for a walk. Although I was running a few minutes later than usual, I didn't take the bait to just say "screw it" and roll over for an extra 20 minutes of precious sleep.

Yesterday, I could have very easily avoided the walk and was actually quite close to do so, but having skipped Friday (I went to all school mass with No. 1) and Saturday (No. 2's birthday party) it was actually pretty easy to convince myself to get out the door and go. (READ MORE)

It's quite possibly one of the worst things I go through as a diabetic: the ongoing debate between the rational and irrational sides of my brain. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to push the thought out of my head to buy candy or junk food only to have my irrational side drive me to the nearest convenience store.

I've never been hypnotized, although my junior high friends and I all tried to hypnotize each other during sleep overs, but I'm starting to seriously consider it lately as a way to modify my eating habits. I mean, if people use it to stop smoking and women can use it for childbirth and dentists use it for patients who are fearful of getting a cavity filled, then why can't I use it to get me to stop eating junk? (READ MORE)

There are some days that-despite fresh comments from my husband about 'someday having to cut off Mommy's foot'-I say to him "I'm going to get some ice cream." Those are usually the days he knows I need my fix to feel better because stress in one form or another has gotten the best of me.

And then there are the days when I sit in the parking lot of the grocery store eating a triple chocolate Drumstick because I know I can't scarf it down before I get home. (I bet this gets eaten on the way home, the cashier quips with a smile.) I head to the store under the auspices of getting milk or cereal for the next morning, but it's also an excuse to find something to feed my nasty habit. I really can't pass up a candy bar stand in a grocery store; although, I used to be able to. (READ MORE)