Type A-Ish

Sometimes at summer camp, people will do "trust falls" as a bonding experience.  You know the ones.  Someone stands up, crosses their arms over their chest, and falls backwards with the understanding that their team will catch them and not let them fall.  Tonight, as I am pondering as I often do late at night, it seems to me like the entire business of of having a kid with Type 1 Diabetes is a giant years-long trust fall.  We for sure won't let him fall all the way down... but there may be bobbles here and there and it sure won't look perfect.  He has blindly put his faith in us--his team--and we have little option but to be there for him.  I mean...  if I'm not, well, you know.  And so I am, and I do what I need to do, and I put my metaphorical arms out to catch him multiple times a day, and will continue doing so for many more days and nights, weeks, months, years.

Being a parent of any kid is much like an extended trust fall... one that starts and then just never stops. Probably ever.  I'm learning that being the parent of a kid with an illness--no matter how well that kid is handling things (he's a freaking rock star...)--is like a two-fold exercise in trust.  "Do I trust myself to make sure that his needs are being met?" and then "Are his needs being met?".  It's one thing to know that you're making silly choices as a parent...  Because we all do those things.  Ice cream for breakfast once in a blue moon?  Can't hurt.  Sleep in until 11?  Why not.  One minute you're flying by the seat of your pants, and then the next minute the world stops and changes direction, and all of the sudden what's up is down, and the chaos that existed before is thrust into an awkward order that doesn't feel right.

I've always been a self-identifying "Type B" personality.  Ask my parents... Ask my husband...Ask my friends from school... Ask my siblings...  Ask pretty much anyone who's ever spent a great deal of time with me. I just feel more at ease with my life if it's "chill" or "zen" or some hybrid of those two things. But diabetes?  Diabetes doesn't really do "Type B".  Diabetes will come into your "chill" and "Zen" home and go all "Type A" right on your ass.  Gone are the days of "anything goes", and in come the days of regimented and plotted out.  My formerly carefree (haha, not really... but it's a nice image to have) days have been replaced with a giant color coded spreadsheet courtesy of my much more "Type A" husband, a routine that's not one I chose, and parameters for things that were imposed on our family rather than chosen. 

This newfound order is chaos to me.  I'm not used to the language of strict routines or having many set rules to follow as a parent.  No more.  New in my vocabulary are things like "Don't forget to poke a different finger...", "pick a different site tonight...", "Did we change the lancet....?'. "How many carbs were your snack?", and "yes, I know you don't want a shot before dinner... but you want dinner...  so you have to have a shot.".  None of these things that former "Type B" me would have said.  Or thought.  Or wanted to think or say.  But this new "Type A-ish" me has to.  And so l do. 

A couple of mom friends with other special kiddos were having rough days today, and I saw as much on Facebook. And I so wish I could hug them both and say to them that former me sure wouldn't have understood, but now I do.  That they are good enough, that their little people are in their lives purposefully...  That they aren't alone...  That I know how much they wish they could be the more "Type B" people they once were.  That Type A-ish is OK.  That they are doing such tough and important work.  That it will be OK.  That someday, they/we will miss these hard days and need to be needed again. 

And so I will continue doing the hard work that I do... Checking the homework and sorting out friend issues for the Queen Bee.  Preparing pasta made from beans (that looks like worms) and agreeing that Diabetes "Sucks and is stupid" with Son Number One.  Remembering that The Feisty One is only three and still needs his mama hugs and loves, and that feelings are hard for little guys to process, and that talking Transformers to him is as important as talking weather or politics with grown-ups.  Changing poopy diapers, picking up every tiny thing that he tries to grab on the floor before it reaches his mouth, and soaking up all of the toothy little smiles that come from the Baby Sloth...  Remembering that it's OK to just tread water sometimes to keep from sinking.

And trying to be about as "Type B" as I can with all of the new "Type A" requirements in my life.  And that Type "A-ish" may be the best I can do some days.