Your Mom is Low.
Terrible habit, sarcasm. Especially the "your mom" retort. Like when my college roommates are out at the bar and someone asks for another beer. Instantly, "Your mom wants another beer." Immature retort? Indeed. But almost reflexive at this point? Unfortunately, indeed again.
(This intro has a point – bear with me.)
This morning, I woke up with my first bad low in a while. For the last month or so, I haven’t seen lows worse than 55 mg/dl, and my sensitivity to the symptoms seems to have increased a bit. But while the lows of the last few weeks have felt mild, this morning’s 49 mg/dl raked me over a little bit.
I woke up feeling groggy and warm, despite the air conditioning and the fact that I’d slept about seven hours straight. (Yay for Sleeping-Through-the-Night-in-her-New-Crib BSparl!) The corners of my mouth were numb and I felt like my whole brain was encased in cotton balls. I reached for the black meter case and brought it close to me in bed. Fully intended to test. But instead fell back asleep for a few minutes, with my meter snuggled against me.
Once I did wake back up, it had been another eight minutes. And my symptoms were progressing, giving rise to shaking hands in addition to the cotton ball veil. But it’s strange, where my brain goes when I’m low. I had a juice box right on the bedside table. I knew I was low and didn’t need to test to confirm, but I was on some kind of OCD autopilot. I had to test. Instead of grabbing the juice from beside me, I instead grabbed my meter from the bed, walked out into the kitchen, and set up the machine on the counter top.
BEEP!
Shunk.
49 mg/dl.
"Okay," I said out loud, and took some glucose tabs from the cupboard. (Chompy, chompy … always a weird effort to get those things chewed up when I’m that low.)
And then I heard BSparl stirring in the next room. Not crying, but just stretching her little BSparly legs and easing into the morning routine. I went in to stand at the side of her crib while I waited for my blood sugar to rise.
"Hey sweetie girl. Good morning!"
She kicked her legs and grinned at me.
"Hi! Hang on just a few minutes, okay? I’m having a low blood sugar and I need to wait before I get you up. Just another minute or so. I’m low. Your mom is low."
And I thought of my roommates tossing the "your mom" retorts around with reckless abandon. I stood there giggling like a fool for at least a minute, the smile of irony on my face causing my daughter to bust out with an even bigger smile.
"That’s right, baby girl. Your mom is low."
Finally – FINALLY – the "your mom" actually makes sense. (And with that, I’ve come full circle.)
Source: Six Until Me.