One Down, Sixty-Three to Go

With nine weeks to go, Sprout is doing great.  Right on track for growth and movement - M. even thinks this one is a harder kicker than Asa was!  And, of course, M. looks super - she's carrying well and staying active (like she has a choice, with Asa around).  All the more in the lovely fitted dress she's worn to our two October weddings.

But.

(You knew there was a "but", didn't you?)

Like her last pregnancy, M. has developed gestational diabetes.  Unlike last time, and although her numbers were more borderline than last time, the oral medication that she was initially given is doing... nothing.  After three medication tweaks, even M. agreed that insulin would be the best choice.  For someone who doesn't care much for needles, that's saying something.

But it turns out that it doesn't really matter how much she does, or doesn't, care for needles.  Because she won't be doing the actual injections.

I will.

Says the nurse.  Of course.

So last night, M. (who had actually been taught by the nurse how to give the injection) and I (who had not, but who had been taught to give vaccines for a service project about 17 years ago) sat down with a bottle of insulin, a syringe, some alcohol pads, and some written instructions.

Spoiler: it went fine.  At least, M. said it didn't hurt, and she didn't bleed, and all those other good signs.  I didn't actually hear what her sugar was this morning, so I can't comment on the longer-than-five-minute-term.

What I can comment on is how honored I was (after the initial "I have to do WHAT!?" nerves wore off) that M. let me do it without flinching.  At least visibly.  Especially with my none-too-confident griping about nurses who expect partners to administer shots without actually having been taught how by a professional.

So this isn't really a post about how awesome our kids are and how lucky we are to have them.  Rather, it's about a forceful reminder of how lucky I am to have someone who is willing to count carbs and test her blood and get daily shots in order to keep those awesome kids as healthy as possible.  And it's about how very humbling it is to have someone hand you a much-hated syringe with absolute trust and confidence.

Sixty three more shots.  If M. can do this, I totally can.