Several weeks ago Dad's cousin and her husband visited from Missouri. After dinner we were having an engaging discussion about our family.

L's daughter is apparently something of a dare devil. L was telling us how she found out from her daughter's blog how she had done something dangerous (I think it was jumping off a cliff, but I'm not entirely certain). Mom jumped in joking that she has found out more than she wanted to know about me from my blogs and has learned not to read them anymore.

She looked at me almost mournfully and I suspected it was because she enjoys reading what I write. So to have to force herself to not read what I write so she doesn't freak out about what I'm saying is, I'm sure, difficult to say the least.

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Now that I no longer have to fret about my diabetes, I have a new worry: What if I gave it to my son?

I have to assume that is a pretty common worry among mothers (and fathers) with diabetes. Did my son inherit my faulty diabetes gene along with my ticklish feet?

On the Diabetic Mommy support group I belong to, it is very common for moms to start freaking out that their child may have diabetes. He's drinking too much, he's peeing too much, he falls asleep after meals, etc. With these worries, a mom will then test her child, usually at the exact wrong moment, like when he has juice all over his fingers or just ate a big bowl of cornflakes, to get a higher than normal reading. Usually anything over 100 will do a sufficient job of bringing a diabetic mom to a full panic. 

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This weekend was a busy one. Typically we are busy folk. It seems there is always an event, party, meeting, or whatnot to attend. This weekend was no different.

I had a happy and successful start to Saturday with a loss on the old Weight Watchers scale. The weather was perfect which was both bitter and sweet since most of the country is having horrible weather. But living in Southern California has its definite pluses and minuses. The next stop was a friends Baby Shower in which all the guys were going to hang out at the house with the dad-to-be as the gals had the shower somewhere else. (READ MORE)

My son came to me the other night and asked if he could ask me some questions about diabetes. One thing I never do is turn away an opportunity to talk to my kids about diabetes. I want them to understand, as much as they can, about what diabetes is.

Maybe this is not true for other people with diabetes but a part of me is waiting for this disease to go after my kids. I am guessing that it's normal to not want your kids to deal with what you have to but sometimes I worry that I worry too much!

When I asked what brought on this interview he explained to me that it was for a paper he is working on for school. And with that the interview began.

He asked me to tell him all about diabetes to which I responded with something like, "We do not have enough time for that dude. Tell me what you know and I will fill in and add from there." (READ MORE)

Things have been good these past couple of days. I have been working, working out, and overall my blood sugars seem to be pretty stable. Life is not too bad at the moment. Just as many of you, I have my good and bad days. I wanted to take the chance today to write about the good. Work is, well, work. At times it plays havoc with my sugar and it can be very stressful, but overall I am satisfied. At the end of the day or the end of the work week life gets instantly better. As soon as I walk out the door and I'm on my way to doing something non-work related, the problems I had disappear. Which leads me to my ultimate stress relief time - my workouts.
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N and M

I am on the floor of my brother's living room. My three year old nephew in my lap. He is reading to me about elephants and tigers, complete with animal sound effects. His body presses against my insulin pump, which in turn presses against my hip. I had almost forgotten that diabetes sits with me, even in these gorgeous, irreplacable moments. An unwelcome resident of my body, my mind, and my heart.

A little later, my nephew comes out of his bedroom and stands in the middle of the kitchen. He has a block tucked into the waistband of his pants. He pulls it out and starts pushing imaginary buttons.

I ask "What are you doing, Milton?"

"Giving my medicine, like Aunty Coley," he responds. (READ MORE)