It's Great- But It's Not For Us

Last week, the American Girl company started selling a diabetes care kit for dolls.  It's a great option for girls with diabetes and for those who love them.  Play is a great way to process all sorts of childhood experiences, including that of having diabetes. My daughter has spent countless hours playing with her teddy bears with diabetes- checking their blood sugars, providing them with pretend pumps, and feeding them carefully calculated treats at tea parties.

Her American Girl doll, however, does not have diabetes. And, as I wrote a couple of years ago in the post below, she does not want to. I double checked with both girl and doll, and neither wants the diabetes care kit.  They may want to visit the American Girl store to check it out, though. I definitely do.

 

The American Girl Store sells a variety of medical and dental accessories.  Depending on her needs, a doll could have her own allergy-free lunch, a wheelchair, a hearing aid, a retainer, or glasses.  These items allow children to make their dolls a bit more like themselves, or like people they know.

 

My daughter was perusing the catalog one recent afternoon, dreaming of all the items she'd own if we had a dedicated 'American Girl Wing' in our home.  She was considering whether her doll, Kit, would ever need a wheelchair.

 

"Maybe some day, they'll make an insulin pump for American Girl dolls," I thought out loud.

 

The reply was instant and adamant. 

 

"I wouldn't want one."

 

A pause. 

 

Then, "Why would anyone want that?"

 

"Why not?" I asked. 

 

"I wouldn't want Kit to have diabetes," was the quick reply.

 

"No?" I prompted, thinking about how much Kit has in common with my daughter.  She has a ballet outfit, a softball uniform, her own instrument and music stand, and tons of tiny books.

 

"Can you imagine me telling her she suddenly had diabetes?  She'd be so upset.  I wouldn't want to do that to her.  She wouldn't want to have diabetes."

 

Of course she wouldn't.  

 

Indeed, who would?

 

 

Waterproof

 

 

My daughter took this picture from her kayak last weekend:

 





 

 

The outing was made possible by Ziploc bags.

 

It's unlikely that our kayaks will get swamped or tipped on this calm pond.  More of a threat are the drips from the paddles, and the wet feet going in and out of the boat. 

 

One gallon sized bag holds the meter, glucose tabs, a juice box and a small snack.  It will also hold a small camera.

 

Circling the pond can take a couple of hours, depending on how many frogs, turtles or loons we need to stop and watch, or how long we stop in the shallows to chase polliwogs.

Knowing the diabetes essentials are dry and at the ready allows us to, for the most part, forget about them and enjoy the water.

 

 

 

 

Playgroup

During my daughter's baby and toddler years, we attended a great playgroup in the community center gym. The local 'mothers club' had collected a plethora of toys and secured a closet in which to store them.  Every Friday, the toys were dragged out into the gym and children from birth to four were invited in to play.  A weekly donation of $2 got you two hours of playtime, a snack and juice, and even a cup of coffee for mom. 

My daughter and I, for the most part, enjoyed it.  She liked the 3 different play kitchens, the giant bouncy balls and the dress up clothes.  I liked meeting other mothers and having somewhere to go, particularly on frigid winter mornings.

This was one of the first places we brought diabetes out in public.  One or two other moms knew my daughter had diabetes, but I imagine many wondered about us; especially at snack time.

The kids would all sit on a couple of blankets laid out on the gym floor to eat their snacks.  Most mothers would then head for the coffee or sit on the bleachers and chat.  We'd head over to the side to check her blood sugar.  I'd then vet the snacks for carbs and determine whether she would eat the playgroup snack of the day or an alternative from my bag.  She was on NPH at the time, so very restricted at snack time. I would then awkwardly hover over the eating children.  I needed to be sure she ate her snack, and didn't eat anybody else's. What if she got her hands on somebody's juice? When snack time was over the children would be instructed to throw away their trash and go back to play.  More often than not, I'd have to drag my child over to the bleachers and make her finish her goldfish before she could go back out there. 

At home, diabetes was becoming part of our routine and its intervals were becoming second nature. The contrast of being somewhere diabetes wasn't part of the routine was challenging for both of us.  It was isolating to be the mom obsessively observing toddler snack time instead of sharing potty training tips over coffee.  My daughter desperately wanted to get back and play whether she'd finished her snack or not.  She wanted the playgroup snack whether it was goldfish (o.k.) or donuts(not o.k.).  She was really little, and any parent can therefore imagine her reaction to not being allowed to have her way.

In retrospect this was the beginning of a long series of moments when we brought diabetes along with us despite its challenges.  Yes, there were 2 or 3 days when I had to give up and bring her home because she melted down at snack time.  Most weeks, though, the fun far outweighed the challenge.  I wasn't going to let the possibility diabetes might throw us a curve ball stop us from enjoying a happy morning out.   A few years have passed, but that last bit remains just as true today.

Diabetes Optional

 

 

The American Girl Store sells a variety of medical and dental accessories.  Depending on her needs, a doll could have her own allergy-free lunch, a wheelchair, a hearing aid, a retainer, or glasses.  These items allow children to make their dolls a bit more like themselves, or like people they know.

 

My daughter was perusing the catalog one recent afternoon, dreaming of all the items she'd own if we had a dedicated 'American Girl Wing' in our home.  She was considering whether her doll, Kit, would ever need a wheelchair.

 

"Maybe some day, they'll make an insulin pump for American Girl dolls," I thought out loud.

 

The reply was instant and adamant. 

 

"I wouldn't want one."

 

A pause. 

 

Then, "Why would anyone want that?"

 

"Why not?" I asked. 

 

"I wouldn't want Kit to have diabetes," was the quick reply.

 

"No?" I prompted, thinking about how much Kit has in common with my daughter.  She has a ballet outfit, a softball uniform, her own instrument and music stand, and tons of tiny books.

 

"Can you imagine me telling her she suddenly had diabetes?  She'd be so upset.  I wouldn't want to do that to her.  She wouldn't want to have diabetes."

 

Of course she wouldn't.  

 

Indeed, who would?