Name that stress

The other day my five year old said to me, "Mommy, I don't remember what you looked like before you got your pump." I ignored his older brother ("the same as she does now, only without a pump, stupid!") and said "Sometimes I don't either". Because he had just turned four when I started taking insulin; was four and a half when I got the pump. So he really doesn't remember a time when Mommy wasn't all stressed out with this disease; when I wasn't sticking my fingers ten times a day, when every third morning I wasn't busy with a site change and snapping "ask Daddy to get you breakfast". I can't say he doesn't remember a Mommy who wasn't cranky if she missed a meal, because that has pretty much always been true ; )
On the other hand, life wasn't exactly stress-free before. When my oldest son was five, I was working a ton of extra hours at work with a toddler and a baby on the way; when the middle guy was five, I was agonizing over a job change, building a new house with an old one that wouldn't sell, and so on. So I recognize that even if this is a huge new deal to me, to the kids it's just another in a long line of grownup issues. And I just have to deal with it, because that's the only real option.
His comment did bother me, but I need to look at the fact that most of the time this disease is really nothing more to me then a big pain in the butt (literally!). And sometimes, it's a source of humor. I mean, I'm getting ready for my end-of-study-control-period by wearing a CGMS again for a solid week. It would, of course, have to be the week of my company Xmas party, where my BG was way up there pretty much all day as I pigged out. Lord knows what the graph for that is going to look like ("When good diabetics go bad"). And I had a pretty amusing time trying to come up with a way to hide both a pump and a monitor beneath a slinky evening dress without looking like some kind of holiday suicide bomber. Note to self: clipping both devices to a single garter wasn't the best idea - the combined weight kept trying to pull down the garter, which was clipped to my underwear, which wasn't clipped to anything... Luckily a few timely trips to the ladies' room averted any real catastrophe.
And then there was yesterday's conversation with my husband:
me - You got a box from Amazon.
him - Don't open it; that's your Christmas present. It's something you really want.
me - I don't think they sell pancreases on amazon. Though I imagine you could try on eBay.
him - That box would be in the fridge.

Actually, my real present comes tomorrow, when I start my non-control group six months of integrated-pump-and-continuous-monitor study. Stay tuned for details...