Marc recently requested a sample Omnipod in the mail. They sent us one which has the real inner workings, so the weight is the same, but rather than insert it with a needle, one can peel a backing off and put it on like a sticker. As part of his effort to get Olivia to let him put it on her, Marc has been showing her videos on YouTube of other children and their pumps.

This afternoon, she asked me to watch the video about Samantha with her.



Lost it. Completely. I was barely able to hold things together enough to make it through and take a break in the kitchen.

It's really important that we act enthusiastic when she meets other children who also have diabetes, children who have pumps, but it can be almost soul-crushing to hear your three-year-old say, "Mommy, she has diabetes...just like me!" as though it were the most exciting thing.

Also soul-crushing? The first two minutes of this video:



No parent should have to do these things to their child. No child should have to endure it.

There is no cure for diabetes. Yet.

We will not be raising money for the JDRF's Ride for the Cure this year, but we are walking in our local walk. If you would like to donate to Team O, please follow this link.

And then she was three...

 

Last day as a two-year-old...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Manipulation Station

"Momma, if you don't give me another rice cake, it's going to make me upset."

Olivia started swimming lessons last week and I don't think I have ever seen her so excited. She shrieks, she kicks, she is the first person in line to go down the slide into the water. She's never the first in line to do anything, but she loves her some swimming.

 

I was so glad to see her like this. I needed to see her like this, because frankly it's pretty much been a 24-hour scream-fest around here lately. Although the screaming has nothing on the hitting. Olivia has long been a hitter, but things have progressed lately. Today she hit me twice with a closed fist and once in the back. With a broom. Her little play broom, but still. I have been a bit at my wits end as my "Hitting Hurts" speech has not been cutting it.

I don't know if it is new baby anxiety. She's been asking to sit in her high chair and telling me that the baby can't use it. I wanted to talk about her behavior with our nurse practitioner yesterday, but once she saw that O's A1c was 6.9 (!!), all she really had to say was, "Yeah, she's almost three." And I know that it can be a tough age. She's trying to assert some control. Over me.

Despite the broom and the fit about wearing my make-up...and my jewelry...and the one about socks, today did go better than yesterday and I think that is because I was able to keep myself together a bit more. If I can just ride it out, not raise my voice, keep repeating the same thing, she does seem to eventually burn out. It takes awhile; she has a lot of what the book I bought yesterday in a weepy, desperate plea for help calls "negative persistence." Indeed.

With all of this going on, I have hardly allowed myself to think about the baby. Other than the occasional "This poor kid. His sister is going to eat us both for lunch."

Update: What do you know? I already posted this here six months ago. Except I was more eloquent, wasn't pregnant and had a vacation on the horizon. Yikes.

Olivia (taking time out from about 30 minutes worth of singing about bumblebees and dump trucks): "Mommy! There's music in my mouth!"