It always starts the same way.
I’m in bed. I’ve just hit that perfect, warm, drooling level of sleep.
And then—
BEEP.
The CGM goes off like a tiny siren of doom.
“LOW: 62 → dropping.”
And so begins the 2 a.m. Hunger Games, where I’m half-awake, rummaging for fast-acting carbs like a raccoon in a campsite.
Phase 1: False Optimism
“It’s just a little low. I’ll give her a juice box and we’ll be back to bed in 10 minutes.”
Lies. Lies and betrayal.
Because 20 minutes later, we’re still hovering at 63, she’s sweating through her pajamas, and I’m giving serious side-eye to the Dexcom.
Phase 2: The Carb Olympics
I try juice.
Then a couple fruit snacks.
Then another juice.
Then I wonder: Did I over-treat? Undershoot? Is the sensor wrong? Am I wrong?
Suddenly, I’m Googling “Dexcom lag at night” while whisper-swearing in the hallway and considering a blood sacrifice to the diabetes gods.
Phase 3: The Rise
She’s back up.
Too far up. Now we’re climbing like it’s Everest.
“Good job, pancreas stand-in. Hope you enjoy your over-correction anxiety spiral.”
So I dose a correction. Maybe. Or maybe I don’t. Because sleep math is a whole different kind of math. And I am no longer certified.
Phase 4: The Guilt Spiral
- Did I do too much?
- Should I have waited longer?
- Is it wrong that I’m tired of this?
- Am I a bad mom for counting down how many years are left until she might handle this on her own?
(Cue crying on the edge of the bathtub with a fistful of glucose tab wrappers.)
Phase 5: The Acceptance
She’s asleep.
Numbers are stable.
The world is quiet.
And me? I’m just sitting in the hallway, wide awake, eating her leftover fruit snacks like a goblin.
“We’re fine,” I whisper to no one.
And I almost believe it.
