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Life has just been plugging right along. I find that with this blog, as well as with my personal journal-writing, when things are good, I don’t write as much. There’s not much angst or stuff to work out nor as much humor, self-deprecating or otherwise. A sense of humor is key to dealing with the stress of motherhood and I find that my sense of humor feels at home in this stress.

Lately things just haven’t been as stressful. Yes, Tater Tot loooves her a tantrum on a daily basis and likes to “step the envelope” (push the envelope) with Mommy but it’s just not the same kind of stress I felt when she was younger. The doubt-myself-daily kind of stress where I wondered if I was doing something (or everything) wrong and if/when I would scar her for life. I have become very comfortable in motherhood.

Well, this week, my comfort level was dealt a major blow. It started last week when I noticed that Princess Tater Tot was drinking everything she could get her hands on. Then she started peeing through her Huggies in record time and I started to be concerned. It had been 80 degrees or near that here in lovely San Diego, though, so I chalked it up to being thirsty because it was hot. She was also super-duper cranky, which I chalked up to being almost-three. But then, Saturday morning I saw some symptoms that I couldn’t ignore. She was shaky at breakfast and her speech seemed a little thick. The Daddy didn’t notice it as much as I did but I knew that something was just off. It went away, though, so I decided to just keep an eye on it. By Tuesday morning at Mommy and Me I knew I had to call the doc because, although she had periods of normalcy, the lethargy and crankiness had ratcheted up a notch and something was just not right. We couldn’t get an appointment with her regular doc so we made one at the after-hours clinic for his pediatrics group. At 7:30 that night we found out that she is diabetic and were directed immediately to Children’s Hospital for a minimum three-day stay. We’ve been at Chez Children’s ever since and, I’ll tell you, I’m ready to go home but terrified to do so.

Going home means that I am totally responsible for my child’s health. Not that I wasn’t before. Obviously I was. But that was when there was nothing wrong, or so we thought. That was before I knew I needed to measure and restrict and say “no you can’t have some of Mommy’s pizza” or stick my child with a needle and poke her finger 4 times a day. Before our lives changed forever.

So far I have not fallen apart but I can’t guarantee what will happen when we get home. I am tired and the hospital, while so necessary and helpful, has sapped all of my energy. I have not exercised or sewn in 4 days (the things I do to deal with stress) and I just want to sleep in my own bed. If you can’t tell, my sense of humor has not quite found a home in this yet. But it will. I have no doubt. Just like with any other challenge, I will find a way to make it funny and take the edge off. But not yet. For now, all of my energy is focused on learning how to live our new lifestyle and how not to let it limit us. I know we can do it. It will just take some adjustment. Par for the course with motherhood, right?

The doctors and nurses keep remarking that I’m so calm and I can’t help but reply to them “What’s my alternative, really?” There isn’t one. Falling apart isn’t an option for This Mommy, at least not right now.