Kade wet the bed again. He also had an accident Wednesday afternoon and at school yesterday. I freaked out a little bit inside. Okay, I freaked out a LOT inside. He didn’t have a single accident at school last year and he was barely potty-trained when he started. The teacher was very calm, reassuring and awesome about it, but panic started to sink in on the walk home. I started to go through the checklist in my mind: has he been drinking a lot lately, how many times on average does he pee during the day, he has been looking thinner but I just thought it was because he went through a growth spurt, could my first-born, impossibly stubborn, ridiculously sensitive, eerily intuitive, little man have diabetes? I held back the mounting tears and walked home with him happily chattering about his day. Our neighbor and her two boys came over for lunch and the kids played on the playground, had doll stroller races down the driveway, and gobbled up an entire package of Halloween peeps that she had brought over for dessert. Once we were inside and I managed to lay Liv down for a nap, Kade told me he wasn’t feeling well. He actually told me I could test his sugar (I had talked to him about possibly needing to prick his finger, which I’ve done before). The boy didn’t even flinch, but I certainly did when the meter read 185. My head was spinning. My chest tightened and my eyes began to burn as the tears pooled up. I started some self-talk to calm the hysteric reaction that was about to let loose. “It’s going to be okay. Your son has diabetes. You have diabetes. You can get through this together. Wait…my son has diabetes. This is not okay. This is not fair. This is my fault. I gave this to him. I love him…” Then it hit me. I never washed his hands before sticking him (and really…185 isn’t that high given the amount of sugar he just ate…it actually is, I was just trying to make myself feel better). I scrambled for an alcohol pad, disguised my second poke and had the blood flowing before he knew what hit him (he was unfazed…all he wanted was a Batman band-aid). This time the meter showed 101…a beautiful, perfect, just crammed 3 peeps in his mouth, unbelievable 101. I nearly fell over with relief. I just hugged him and I cried…hard. It is in these moments that I know what it means to be truly thankful.