I snuck in to the office like I was coming home after curfew. I listened for voices as I climbed the stairs to see if I could figure out where people were and if I was going to encounter anyone at the top.

As I hit the top step I was relieved to see that S. wasn't sitting at her desk. I quickly slunk into my office and plopped the fast-food bag on the floor next to my desk. I hated feeling like I had to hide my lunch, but that's the reality of it. (READ MORE)

There comes a time in everyone's diagnosis when reality sets in. This is forever. Now I know there's a possibility of a cure in my lifetime, but I'm really not counting on it. Not like I'm being cynical or negative or anything. All I'm saying is that I can't live my life clinging to that kind of hope. Hope is good, but I feel like I have to be realistic. I'd rather be proven wrong on this one than live my life anticipating something that may never happen.

With that in mind, I can be pretty hard on myself in all aspects of my life. My writing, my photography, my parenting skills, my wifery, my diabetes management, my walking routine. Even though The Mr. tells me all the time that I'm an excellent writer and that my photography skills are awesome, I still feel like he's blowing smoke. OK, deep down I know he's not blowing smoke, but I am my own worst critic. (READ MORE)