O had an endo appointment this week and everything went well. Everything went really well. Despite more than a month's worth of illness and high blood sugars and battles over and delays of most injections, her A1C was 7.7. I was shocked. The nurse practitioner helped us put in an I-Port so that some of the injections could be adminstered there, saving her some sticks and allowing us to get her insulin in her in a more timely fashion. And finally, we got some information that might help us as we go forward in making the decision about whether or not to have another child.

O hardly noticed the port; we told her what it was for and how we would use it. She fussed a little with the first couple of injections through it, but they didn't seem to hurt and the whole thing seemed a major improvement over what has been going on with each and every shot. Trouble came when we took off her clothes for her bath. She really noticed the "button" for the first time, touching it gingerly and asking to see it in the mirror. She walked to our room with tiny little steps, cheeks clenched as though it might fall off. The look on her face as she turned from side to side trying to see it on her cheek broke my heart. She didn't want to get in the tub and cried hysterically when I finally put her in after she peed on the floor. She never did sit down; only stood there sobbing while I bathed her and told her again and again what the button was for and that it wouldn't hurt her. She wanted her diaper and clothes back on as soon as I lifted her out of the water.

But the next day, she seemed to be less fearful and more intrigued. She told her Nan about "my button" first thing and then seemed to forget about it. We were going to change it on Sunday, but it came out when Marc bathed her last night. We didn't put another in before she went to sleep and when he went to give her the next injection, she asked for the button, so I guess she has decided the injections are indeed preferable through the port. We'll see how it goes when we try to put the next one in without assistance.

O has inexplicably fallen in love with the new Neil Young CD I just bought. (Perhaps inexplicable isn't the right word. I know some people probably find Neil Young inexplicable; I am not one of them and apparently O isn't either. It just surprised me. The Wiggles he ain't.) OK, O has surprisingly fallen hard for Neil. Today, while we listened for about the fourth time, she told me first that she wanted to hold him and then that "Neil Young (prounouned Eel Ung) won't hurt you." Indeed.

(Lest you begin to question whether this blog is becoming one of those "Listen to this cute thing my cute kid just said" deals, let me go ahead and assure you...yes, yes it is. It's just that lately she's been so...cute.)

Giving O her injections is more and more difficult. Where she used to protest and then acquiesce with a tiny, pitiful "OK" that broke my heart every time, she now screams, writhes, kicks, and just generally says "No and thank you" in no uncertain terms. Sometimes it seems to make things go slightly better if I can give her some say in the matter, like where we sit or what she holds in her hands while I am giving her the shot.

A couple of days ago I asked her whether she would prefer the injection in her arm or her leg. She thought for a moment and answered: "Mommy's arm."

No sooner do we finally move out of the March Morass of Illness and Olivia wakes up sick again. I hate the feeling of helplessness. I hate that I can hear her raspy breathing from her room as she sleeps. Ever since she had the virus last year that we hypothesize may have kicked her diabetes into gear, I have this constant low-grade terror about what is going on in her body...what the diabetes is doing, what this cold or that virus might mean, is she running a fever or dumping ketones...is something else creeping up that we don't even know about yet? It felt so good to be able to breath a bit easier this week when she felt better; now I realize just how scared I am all the time about her health.

Olivia is finally feeling better. She's happy, then cranky, then screaming and then laughing maniacally and calling, "Look, Mommy!"...in other words, she's almost two. Marc and I seem to be over our illnesses, though we are both plagued by the high-allergy season we've been experiencing this year. I am feeling a constant, maddening itch inside my eyes, in the back of my throat, so far up my nose it must be my brain. I broke down this year and bought some over the counter meds, which seem to replace the itch with an only mildly discombobulating fog. It is worth it to be able to be out with O. The weather has been gorgeous, we have a new playground in our neighborhood (built by the community in one amazing weekend), and O's favorite place to be is outside, so I had to be able to venture out this spring without a tissue jammed up each nostril.

O's ear infection seems to have brought the honeymoon phase to a crashing halt. Where we were only giving her tiny amounts of Levimir in the morning and evening with no additional insulin with meals, she now needs Humalog with at least one meal to bring her back somewhere close to her target. Close to target...I should be giving her more Humalog than I have been, but I get stuck with a goal in mind and it takes me a little while to make a shift. I have been so nerve-wracked about the low blood sugars that I have been timid about overdoing it with the insulin; as a result, I think that I have been letting her go too high for too long each day. I am still uncomfortable making some of these decisions. I know that I am learning as we go, but my daughter's health seems like a lot to put at stake while I climb the learning curve. Make a move, assess, adjust. Make a move, assess, adjust. We are getting there.

In other news, O made the switch to the Big Girl Bed. She looks so tiny in the middle of the giant twin bed, but she seems to be fairly comfortable. I have, of course, been a little slower to warm to the change and actually left her crib up beside the bed until Marc finally broke it down and put it in the attic one evening. She's finally almost sort-of kinda sleeping through the night (Cue trumpets and sweet angels singing.) She would probably sleep better if we weren't going in and poking her with sharp things every few hours, but close enough. Getting her to fall asleep in the big girl bed is like wrestling a deer, all elbows to the nose and knees in my gut as she crawls around trying to get settled, saying, "Mommy" every seven seconds while I play possum (excuse me...opossum).

The same week that we put up the bed, O's interest in the potty climbed a notch or two, thanks in part to a new book we got on said subject. (Her favorite part? "I did it! I did it") We try to sit her on the potty for a bit each day, but as soon as her bum hits it, she squeaks, "All done!" She is also starting to educate me on the status of her diapers every day, though everything she tells me about has just happened rather than being imminent...but we are getting close to Potty Training, I think. Pray for us.