Sucker Punched

Yesterday I went to the diabetes clinic. I hate the people at the diabetes clinic.

Well, I don't hate them. They were pretty nice and even laughed when I said gestational diabetes is caused by the sweeping palm of God. I think I have misplaced my rage. Let us redirect it, shall we?
I hate the stupid dumb retarded vicious leprous malicious malformed demented satanic needle that now pokes my finger at least four times a day and says "you are doing an okay job", or "you could do better", or "you are really screwing this up, dumbo." I hate that needle from the ninth circle of hell.

And here's the thing: I have only been lacerating myself for two days.

And here's the other thing: I am seriously not afraid of needles. I'm like a needle champion. Except FINGER needles, which I loathe, despise, and abominate. And apparently the forces for evil have combined to bring them into my life.

I will not be defeated.

You don't scare me. Bring it.

Okay, you scare me, and every time I have to push the trigger-ma-bob, I freeze and kind of panic a little until I give myself the whole "you have given birth, sissy-poo-nanny" pep-talk.
But you will not conquer.
I'll keep drawing my own blood until I have no blood left.

And then you'll be sorry.

Seriously, I have gained a whole new appreciation for the many loved ones of mine that have to deal with diabetes every single day. It is not fun to poke yourself. It is not fun to try to figure out how to eat. I hereby give them an award of overwhelming awesomeness. A moment of cricket chirping for my friends and loved ones, please.

~ chirp. chirp. ~

You are all my hero's. Every. Single. One. Of. You.

Last night we went to the park with some good buddies. It was fun and also radical. We stayed until past 10:30. Which makes us very responsible parents, obsessed with bedtime and all that jazz. But it was so fun to visit, and the temperature was rather delightful, 'cause it wasn't 105. To add to the delightfulness, these two teenage boys dressed in black with tails at the back of their hair (circa 1989) came and did ninja tricks all over the playground. Huge leaps, flips, run and jump type of manuevers. All over the playground and bathroom facilities. It. Was. Awesome. Because it was so very, very random. Who were they trying to impress? I was seriously starting to wonder if they were on meth or something, because there was apparently nothing to induce their amazing behavior. Unless they were trying to seduce a very pregnant woman and a woman with a brand new baby away from their husbands. And let me tell you, folks, it almost worked.

Apparently inspired by the amazing actions of his older counterparts, K.J. ninja-ed off the swinging bench and got this totally awesome injury:

And he didn't even tell me about it 'till we got home! No crying, nothing. And it looks a lot cooler in real life, 'cause it's all discolored and messy-looking. Makes him look like a real man. Watch out, ladies.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that I love you all. That is the only thought stronger then the buzzing. You are loved. Have a wonderful weekend. Amen.