A heavy burden

The Mr. and I had one of those moments over the weekend that only spouses can have. I said something along the lines of "You better remember this when I'm 90 and you have to take care of me." He joked about the state of us when I'm 90 and, without thinking really, I said, "I hope I live to 90."

And then it just hung there. Those words--I hope I live to 90--had only ever meant geez I hope I don't croak from old age before then. Post diabetes, those words have so much more depth. My fate is now in my hands, so to speak. It's not like contemplating the immediate effect of your actions: I step off the curb at the wrong time and I get hit by a car, so be careful or you'll get hit by a car. It's contemplating that Twix bar I ate last night and my subsequent 150 fasting blood sugar: how many minutes/hours/days did I take off the end of my life for that? It's so far in the future that it's easy to push aside.

But as a PWD and a professional procrastinator, I have realized that I have to set a good example for my children, who one day I dread will inherit this fateful disease as it runs rampant on my mother's side. They know that I get up way before they do to go for my "morning walk," and they know that too much sugar and fat are not good for anyone's bodies. In fact, the last time we went to McDonald's my six year old asked to not have french fries because there is too much fat in them (isn't he great?!). I hope that by showing them a healthy lifestyle, diabetes will never be a part of their lives. And IF it does become part of their lives aside from what they already deal with from me, that they'll be able to live well past 90 because I was able to give them a solid foundation.