Friday, July 27, 2012

Only a Diabetic Mother...

...would be faced with the following conundrum.

The baby had just finished nursing. It was about 9 o'clock. I was bouncing and rocking him gently for a few minutes, until he fell into a deep-enough sleep to put in bed without rousing. And then, my blood sugar started to drop.

I could feel it coming on. I denied that it was happening for about 2 minutes, and then realized that it was, in fact, still happening, and I had to choose a course of action in light of the mental fog and weakness descending upon me.

My options were three:

1) Hope that the baby falls deep asleep soon enough for me to put him in his bed without waking, before I involuntarily drop him to the floor or pass out sitting in my chair. But if this takes a while, I will be up a creek.

2) Put the baby down and run to get juice, hoping the baby doesn't wake before I get back to coax him back into sleep. This is dangerous territory, and extremely unlikely to result in my bedtime being any sooner than midnight.

3) Carry the baby into the kitchen and try to get some juice for myself without breaking any glass on the tile floor.

I elected option 3). I found myself confronting a bottle of lemonade in the refrigerator (fortunately not buried behind the milk!), and a glass on the counter that looked mostly clean but that had surely been used by someone other than myself recently.

I lifted my leg and propped my son's swaddled bum onto it. I opened the refrigerator with my free hand, and barely wedged my elbow in front of the door to keep it from closing before I could grab my sugary prize. Gripping the cold lemonade bottle, I positioned my forearm underneath said child's bum, and attempted a few more bounces to ward off the squirming that had followed the cold disruption. The sound of the sloshing of the lemonade in the bottle may or may not have made the squirming worse.

I walked to the counter, placed the baby's butt onto it, and bounced his shoulders and head up and down with my other arm. I almost knocked the lemonade bottle and my child's butt off the counter trying to unscrew it, almost spilled the lemonade all over my child, leg, and the floor while pouring it, and finally ended up with a too-full glass of lemonade.

I quickly placed my forearm underneath the wiggling infant's bum, hand gripping the too-full glass, and watched carefully as the liquid in the glass rose up and down, uncomfortably close to the rim, while I bounced my way and my child back to the bedroom, collapsed into my trusty nursing chair, and resumed my attempts to get the babe off to slumber-ville, while doing my best to imbibe diabetic salvation.

I mean, it's practically like sitting on the beach, sipping a glass of something cool and refreshing. Right?

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