Impressive

“You should probably check before you go to bed.”  It was late and every second before climbing under the covers felt like an eternity but it seemed smart to head off any problems before we slept.

“191.”

“Not bad- do what it takes.”

“It says to give .5.”

“Go for it.”

We relied on the Dexcom for updates, in lieu of setting an alarm, and Dexi slept through the night.  Morning blood sugar was around 140.

I realized days later that I had said nothing else to my daughter about any of this.  On a normal day, these were okay numbers, nothing to celebrate, nothing to panic about.  On this day they were impressive, and I forgot to be impressed.

These numbers came after our annual Christmas open house. The buffet table included chicken fingers, egg rolls, mini hot dogs, teriyaki meatballs, three or four kinds of chips and crackers with assorted dips and salsas, raw veggies and fruit, and at least five desserts.  My daughter visited this spread several times, and I think she sampled all but one of the desserts.

We’ve been hosting the same party every year since Kindergarten, inviting families back to our home after Santa lights our town's tree.  For the first couple of years, I made my daughter a plate and bolused her for it before sending her off to eat with her friends.  We'd do round two of this routine when the cookies were served.  By third grade or so, she graduated to making her own plate but she still needed to have me calculate the carbs.  Last year was a mixture of her bolusing for the foods she knew (ritz crackers, my homemade cookies, grapes, the egg rolls from Costco) and needing to ask for help with the more complicated items.  This year, for the first time, she was completely in charge of her own carb counting.  This was amazing for two reasons:  first, I got to focus on being hostess and spend more time socializing with our guests, and second, the end results were much better than usual blood-sugar-wise.


It makes sense, really.  Who better to keep track of the carb intake than the person putting the food in her mouth?  Who better to dose the insulin than the person watching the Dexcom graph while she dances around the basement to Christmas music?  Reaching the point where we're both comfortable with her managing her diabetes in these types of situations is a huge plus for both of us.  Especially if she does so as successfully as she did the other night.  It was impressive.

I'll have to remember to tell her so.
 

The Buffet Table

Personally, I love a good appetizer and snack focused buffet table.  Interesting dips, meatballs, crackers with good cheese and foods encased in puff pastry are a few of my favorite things.  Top it off with a good cookie table and it's perfect.  If I'm there alone.

With my daughter around, a couple of hours of happy grazing turns into a couple of hours of math and negotiating.

When there is a buffet table, one is expected to graze.  You have a mini hot dog, meet the relative in from out of town, try a couple of dips, chat about the school play, make your way to the meatballs where you spend time with the party host; and on it goes.

The first problem with this scenario is that each snack requires a math problem and a bolus.  When every conversation is interrupted with 'I took 4 meatballs, mom,' or 'I just ate 7 corn chips,' it's hard to carry on a conversation. When I'm interrupted to nix the plea for a 4th cookie, my already limited cocktail party-related social skills take a big hit.

The second, but related problem is an extension of the standard regular-people buffet party challenge.  If I have a drink in one hand and a little plate in another, I already must find a third hand to eat.  Add the meter remote to that third hand and I'm out.  Even with the understanding that every mother develops a third hand (a.k.a. the ability to juggle well), this scenario becomes impossible and I remain hungry or thirsty so that my kid doesn't end up high.

So a buffet party turns into me with a drink OR food in one hand, following my kid with the meter remote while trying to make small talk and perform carbohydrate equations in my head at the same time.

Ironically, I suppose, we throw one of these parties every year.  The difference is that I painstakingly create a list of every food with its carbohydrate content and post it on the fridge.  My daughter takes the meter remote and is able to do her own juggling act while I play hostess and eat my fair share of mini quiches.

In a perfect world, we'd be handed a cheat sheet at the start of every party, and one of these cool plates .