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I don't know what changed. I don't know why it's now that I am getting angry about diabetes. Lately, I have more and more moments where something happens, and instead of being just sad, I'm mad. The other day I took Liam out to lunch, and while we were waiting for our turn to order, the woman at the counter in front of us ordered her son's lunch. When she ordered milk for him, the little boy, who was about Liam's age, threw an almighty tantrum, screaming that he wanted CHOCOLATE milk. His mom changed their order, the boy calmed down and they left. We got up to the counter, and I ordered Liam's (white, plain, boring) milk. And he didn't complain. He never does. He rarely says a word about the french fries I go to great lengths to avoid. We go out and he sits by his friends, eating his food, and he doesn't say a word about what they get. He doesn't even ask. And while a tiny part of me is grateful that he's so easygoing about it, lately, most of me is just mad. I want him to throw a tantrum. I want him to ask for the chocolate milk. I know he wants it. And when he doesn't ask, it tells me that he knows. He knows those foods make him go high and stay high. He stops being four for a minute, and worries about what is better for his body. And it kills me. It makes me angry when I have to test his blood sugar, and I got to look for a finger that doesn't look quite as abused, and I can't find one. It makes me angry when I sneak into his room first thing in the morning to check him, hoping he's holding steady so he can sleep just a little bit longer, and mid-check, he rolls over and says "Hi Mom" in his sleepy little voice, and I have to live with knowing the very first interaction my son and I had wasn't a "good morning" or a hug, it was me making him bleed. What a crappy way to wake up. It makes me angry when he sits down to eat his favorite foods and he stops to make sure I've bolused him and asks if he can eat yet. It made me angry to hear my husband describe the way he nodded in understanding at the little girl speaking at our JDRF kick-off event as she described being high, and not being able to start eating dinner with her family. It means that when he's too high to start eating dinner, and I put on my best fake accent and carry his plate high in the air to the table and present him with a plate of veggies and tell him his appetizer is ready, holding off on the carbs until his insulin has had a chance to bring him down, I'm not fooling him. Despite my best attempts to let him be four years old, diabetes is making itself comfortable. It's becoming routine. While I know that his acceptance is not necessarily a bad thing, it makes me angry. It isn't fair.

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