“Dinner is ready!” I shouted upstairs to the kids.

I heard them running down the stairs. My teen plopped down at her usual chair at the dining table, while the baby ran to the corner that contained all the diabetic medical devices.

“Carbs please.” 12 year-old.

I leaned over to the kitchen island, and looked over my notepad that detailed all her meals and carbohydrate information, and reported, “85.”

A few minutes later, the baby walked over with her insulin pump in hand. I could hear the very faint clicking sound the pump was making, indicating that it is delivering insulin into her body.

“What’s your number?” me.

“100.” baby.

“100! What a nice round number!” me.

It always hurts a little whenever my baby has to prick her finger to check her blood glucose level. The poor child has to do this several times a day.

An idea popped into my head, “Hey! How about I give you a dollar whenever your BG is exactly 100. That would be kind of fun, huh?”

“No. You should give me one hundred dollars when my BG is 100.” the baby.

So bloody greedy.

“If I give you one hundred dollars, then you will be spending hours doing math with your carbohydrate and insulin ratio counting to try to hit 100, you will go crazy.” me.

“Actually, if you give me $100 for a 100 BG reading, then I will spend hours doing complicated algebra, and eating a mad amount of carbs to reach ONE THOUSAND!” said the young genius.

I stared at my baby, speechless.

My 15 year-old chimed in, “Knowing how rude your disease is. After doing all that math and eating, you are more likely to end up with a BG of 999. You will get no money, except a helicopter ride to the nearest Emergency room.”

“I will take that dollar, mom.” the baby.

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