I'm going to have to switch to the new blogger. I don't want to. I hate change. I hate trying to figure out new stuff. Fuck you, blogger. Go away, leave me alone. I don't like you right now. Hmph.
On to other things.
It's late. I've had a couple of drinks so I'm feeling talkative (aren't you glad you don't live with me? Don't answer that. In my head, you all love me.) I'm listening to Nightswimming, by REM, a song guaranteed to make you introspective. I'm thinking about all kinds of crap, and you, lucky you, get to read it.
I didn't post about it when it came, but O's a1C went up to 8.2. She'd gone from a 9.4 down to a 7.7 and I was hopeful that she'd go lower again, but alas, no. I hate that I see that reading as a judgment of my care of her. (huh. Judgment doesn't have an E in there. Who knew? Spell check, that's who.) And you know what? I'm tired. I'm tired of thinking about it. In September, it will have been 10 years. Ten years of thinking about this shit. Ten years of blood sugar checks and constant, never-ending worry and I'm sick of it. And I know I'll never be free of that worry. It's not like she has a finite illness. That I can say "In six months" "In three years." I don't have that luxury. And I worry about what's going to happen to her down the road. I know people like Nicole and Kerri have it all together and have wonderful, wonderful men who care about them, who watch over them, but what if my O doesn't have that? How do I let her go? I don't think I can just let her walk away, find her own apartment, be on her own. I really don't.
O has some, to me, serious learning disabilities. She can't seem to retain things she's learned in school or at home. Her spelling is atrocious. And it's not for wont of trying. She works so hard at her lessons, spends so much time on her homework. I read it and I cringe. She's in the sixth grade and her spelling is maybe at a third grade level. And I worry. What does that mean for her in the long run? She wants to go to college and I have done nothing to discourage this, but how is she going to manage that when she can't spell? When she has trouble comprehending what she's reading? These are things that I haven't discussed with anyone except TCBIM. He's just as concerned as I am. We have seriously talked about adding a little apartment on to the house for her, once she's old enough to be on her own. We're both afraid for her.
Is this stupid? If you had a child that seemed to have so much trouble with book learning, what would you do? Street smarts, I'm not so concerned about. She's older than her years sometimes, in that regard, which will probably stand her in good stead.
I hate it when this stuff creeps up on me. I try so hard not to let it, to hold it at bay, to deny, deny, deny, put my head in the sand. But every so often, I get a long, dark, tea time of the soul and it just wrecks me. It's just that now, I get to share it with the blogosphere.