Just annoying

I feel, sometimes, like I must be a bad mother.

A good mother would never feel like her kid was just another thing she had to worry about before going to bed, would she?

We had a great dog for a long time. But sometimes, I would want to go right to bed after our family finished watching a movie. I wouldn't want to wash my face, or brush my teeth, or let out the dog.

But I knew that if I didn't let the dog out, I would have to clean a little puddle off of the floor, or that she would wake me two hours before I wanted to get up so that she could access the great outdoors to meet her needs.

So I would begrudgingly let the dog out before collapsing into bed. I would still skip the teeth and the face, just to mollify myself.

I will not say that I felt guilty about feeling resentful that the dog had to use the bathroom. I didn't. My dog loved me unconditionally, and she never sensed that I was feeling whiny about this particular chore.

Unfortunately, I occasionally have similar scenarios with my diabetic daughter. And I wonder if she picks up on my internal whine-o-meter.

Case in point: Around dinner time yesterday, M checked her bg.

It was 207 mg/dl: not outrageously high, but not in the range we are generally looking for.

After finishing dinner, doing our homework, and watching some television, we all went to bed.

I crawled under the covers with my beloved and warm husband. I snuggled my face into the pillow and began the quiet process of unwinding the day in my head.

That's when it hit me: I should have had M check her bg again before going to bed.

I lay there, without moving from my very comfortable position, wondering if I really had to get up. After all, I reasoned, a bg of 207 was unlikely to get outrageously high. There would be no immediate, serious consequences. Probably.

On the other hand, what if it did climb a lot higher? Then my daughter would feel crummy, she might not sleep, her day at school would be shot, and, worst of all, her long-term health would have another ding in it.

I lay there debating.

Whining internally.

I tried to pretend that I hadn't remembered that she needed to check her bg one more time.

It didn't work.

Sighing, I tossed the covers aside, and fumbled my way to the dining room. I grabbed M's purse, and brought it upstairs to her so that she could check her bg.

She seemed unsurprised to see me.

With absolutely no fanfare, she pricked her finger with the lancet, and squeezed a droplet of blood onto the test strip. 5... 4...3... 2... 1.

It was 274, so M ordered her pump to deliver the appropriate dose of insulin.

End of story.

Instead of being pleased that we prevented a potential night-time high, I had only one thought.

"Finally. 

Now I can get some sleep."

Bad mother.

Bad, bad, mother.

But it really is annoying!