Every evening around midnight, my husband dutifully creeps into each of our daughter's rooms and quietly checks their blood sugars while they are slumbering.
As soon as I hear that first bit of beeping, I completely wake up.
My breathing pauses for a second.
So like any good middle-of-the-night burglar, I arm myself. Alarm clock, check. Battery operated lantern, check. Lancets prepped with needles, check. Meter and strips next to lancet, check. Kleenex ready to wrap around fingers so that mom doesn't have to wash a million droplets of blood off the comforters, check.
The alarm goes off in what seems like moments. Instantly awake with a bit of panic and dread, I walk down the hall to test our oldest daughter.
Whirrr. Click. Beep. "156".
I still can't relax.
Sleeping next door is another child with Type 1 Diabetes. My mind plays tricks on me. What if, what if, what if. I creep next door and fumble because I didn't get things ready.
Then something amazing happens.
Whirrr. Click. Beep. "156". Which instantly makes me laugh and wish that I could wake everyone up to see the matching numbers.
I go back to bed and lay down thinking about it. The blood sugar checks, the high, the matching numbers, the basal corrections I will be making in the morning, the fact that I can't remember if we received both sets of pump supplies or just one, and so much more.
Sleep never does come but morning does.
And I wonder one last thought... did the night-owl neighbor see me walking down the hall with a lantern?