Proud DiaDaddy

I was stuck at work tonight, still cleaning up from a crippling network outage from 3 days ago (!) that left me back-entering data.  Sounds fun, right?

My cell phone buzzed, I looked at the screen and saw it was my wife, and answered.  I had no idea what the string of shrieking that ensued meant.  It sounded happy, but the line dropped.  The phone rang again, and this time my DiaDaughter said happily, hurriedly, but this time quite clearly, "I did my own site change Daddy!  I did it all by myself!"

There are no words to express my elation at hearing her joy and her pride in doing this.  I hope I matched hers when I shouted how proud I am of her, how I can't believe it, how she should be so proud of herself, and tell me everything about it!!!

She went on and on, describing everything in detail, her words flying out at a speed she inherited from her mother.  The words were all great, but the only thing that really mattered was how clearly her sense of pride and accomplishment drove them all from her heart to her lips.

But, as I am wont to do, I suffered a moment of mixed emotions.  I was sad and angry that she should have to violate her body in ways most kids don't.  I blamed diabetes for this screwed up situation that should make a kid giddy about poking herself with a needle, then call her dad and gush in unrestrained glee about it.

But just as quickly those negative thoughts evaporated.  Because you know what?  The bottom line is that she was giddy.  She did call me and gush in unrestrained glee.  I've never heard her happier, or prouder (or giddier or more gleeful, for that matter).  She'll never forget this day or the emotional high she experienced--and deserves--and none of that would have happened today if she didn't have diabetes.