... knee deep in Grenada, with a gopher on my back...
A friend of mine used to say that every time she wanted to either change the subject, or bring the conversation back to herself.
So there I was, in bed last night, trying to get a snooze in between the muffled snuffles of the snotty baby. She's had one runny nose before, but this is the first FULL BLOWN cold. Poor little thing. She does not like it. I went to scratch my nipple, and thought there were scabs on it. I thought maybe I was experiencing the awful cracking & bleeding that the books warned me about, and I now have a CASE of Lansinoh still unused. (but I was prepared. And also, Lansinoh makes great lip gloss.)
Anyway. It wasn't scabbing. It was dried boogers. From my snotty daughter. Weaning is getting closer every day. Well, actually, I'm not sure when that weaning thing will happen. We seem to be in a comfortable groove of a short nurse morning and night, and more if she's sick and miserable like right now. I do believe that part of the reason she's been this long without getting sick is maybe the breastmilk. Who knows. Anyway, it's a comfort to her, and it sort of moderates my blood sugar levels, so I can avoid dealing with the full reality of diabetes a little longer.
For some reason I was very diligent and good about watching my diet and getting the amount of insulin right while pregnant. Now, not so much. Don't care. I'm in a rebellious and pouty stage with the whole thing. Sort of a "I don't WANNA be diabetic" stage.
I know this is ridiculous, and I need to take responsibility for my health, considering that I should know well how fragile it can be. But diabetes affects EVERYTHING. It's going on a diet you can't get off of. It's poking yourself with needles 6 or 7 times a day. It's making sure you get your feet checked and your gums checked and feeling even GUILTIER for not getting an appropriate amount of exercise. Waaa.
Ok. Well, enough of the whining on that subject. I guess I'm going to get an appt. with a diabetes educator/nutritionist and see how I can do better at this.
On a good note, work is fabulous. I lovelovelove the people I'm seeing on a daily basis. Because so much of it is work-related, vocational rehab, it's got tangible and quantifiable outcomes, and I like that.
Ok, back to the jobby job.
. . . . Random thoughts about nothing in particular, executed with alternating fits of bitchiness and/or sentimentality.
1 comment:
I don't have good weening advice. Cleo was so old that I simply said, "All gone. It's all gone." And she threw her hands up in the air and toddled off repeating, "All gone. It's all gone." Clearly, she was old enough...
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