Remembering when my middle name was Ann.

Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't remember. If only the days when my biggest worry was if a snotty nose was going to turn into an ear infection didn't burn in my swelly brain...maybe I would be having a better day than I am today.

Because today it feels like all the walls that I have built to protect me from my simpler past, are crumbling.

Three weeks ago every one of my boys had basals dialed in as succinct as a fine quartz watch...and now I don't know what I will find when the countdown flashes on the monitor. Any predictability I had before is gone.

When my boys call me with their numbers at snack I hold my breath...praying it begins with a one. "ONE ONE ONE," I scream in my brain as I'm waiting for the number, "PLEASE, START WITH A ONE."

It has all fallen apart that quickly.

And I wish this was all I knew. Because the echoes of yesterdays are screaming in my ear.

I remember.

I remember feeding my child and not doing algebra theorems in my head.

I remember leaving the house with only a wallet.

I remember going to sleep before my head hit the pillow...without setting an alarm.

I remember when my middle name was Ann...not Worry...

I remember.

And the worst part of it all is I wonder if my boys remember too.

These wonky numbers are ripping my soul out. If our children were in danger, we would protect them. But what do we do when the invader is their own immune system? How can we protect them from themselves?

I can't check their sugars more. I swear L's fingers are going to disappear from all the chiseling that lancet is doing. And he doesn't blink an eye. In fact he'll check his sugar every hour if he is feeling off. On his own. He is 7, and obviously going through a mammoth growth spurt at this very moment.

I feel so vulnerable. The numbness is wearing off. I was able to keep myself numb to all the numbers for so long...and now it is like the doctor has turned off the anesthesia and I can FEEL. Every number burns. Every carb count FEELS like the most important decision of my life. The weight has returned and my back aches from the guilt.

Guilt that I can't protect my children as well as I'd like to.

I wish I was smarter.

I wish I could fix it all.

I wish...

My mind knows that sooner or later we'll figure it all out and I will feel better as quickly as all of the recent occurrences have brought me down...

But my heart can't ignore the sight of my children in front of me...

Eating as fast as they can to satiate a low.

Gulping down water to quench the thirst of a high.

Washing blood droplets off their fingertips from constant checking.

Enduring extra set changes in hopes of fixing sustained highs.

Watching it hurts my heart.

I want to turn away, but we all know that will never be an option. They are counting on me.

So I will be there every minute, every step, trying to bring us back to the tick tick tick of predictability. And when we get there, I will rebuild those walls, and I will forget those simpler days again. I will look forward to the bright future that waits for my brave, selfless boys...and I will find ways to mask the daily grind of this disease.

Because all this focusing on the daily grind is grinding my spirit down to top soil. The boys don't need fertilizer for a mother. They need a rock.

May the good Lord help me to be that rock. From this blog, to His ears...