A couple of weeks ago, my daughter found herself explaining the need to keep her pump attached somewhere under her costume for the school musical.  It brought to mind this post from a few years ago:

My daughter had a softball “workout” a couple of weeks ago.  All of the girls playing this spring were summoned to demonstrate their skills at batting, catching pop-ups, and fielding  grounders.  Groups of 5 at a time entered the gym to be evaluated by at least that many adults.  Based on their skills, the girls were sorted into evenly-matched  teams. 
Fielding grounders is my daughter’s best skill.  She can hit when she gets in a groove, but given the amount of snow on the ground, she hasn’t swung a bat since October sometime.  And she’ll readily admit that she can’t catch a pop-up beach ball, let alone softball.  So she was excited to demonstrate her infield skills. 
I was not allowed in the room, but as she tells the story, here’s what happened:
Someone bounced a grounder to her.  She was ready, leaned down, and got it.  Then her pump fell out of her pocket.  She threw to first, grabbed the pump and stuffed it deeper in the pocket of her sweats.  From behind her, comes the coach’s voice.  “Can I hold that for you?” 
Diabetes has been part of my daughter’s life since she was 13 months old.  And it’s always been interesting to watch how she responds to people responding to it.  She tends to be very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, and is developing an increasing vocabulary to answer questions and to respond to potentially awkward situations.
“Um…well…actually, it’s attached to me.  So I don’t think that would work too well, but thank you.”
I couldn’t have said it better.  
Of course, on the way home, we became hysterical envisioning her fielding grounders while the coach tried to hold the pump. 

Tetherball, anyone?

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