I should have it too.

Being a mom of a child with Type 1 diabetes is difficult because it is the one thing that I cannot say to my son, “I know how you feel.”

When my son skins his knee outside on the driveway, I can ease his pain with a band aid and a story. I can tell him about the time when I was riding my bike down the park and I stood up and let go at the same time. I can tell him how I walked all the way home to Nannie’s house with bloodied up knees all while holding back tears for fear of someone seeing me crying on the street.

When my son has a belly ache, I can ease his pain by having him lie down and telling him a story. I can tell him about the time when I was a brand new teacher and my belly hurt so much that I had to lie down on the little toddler mats until I felt better. Picturing his mama lying on a little toddler mat always seems to make him smile and rid his world of the blasted belly ache.

When my son has too much homework, I can ease his pain by sitting by his side and reminding him of the homework I used to do in college when I met his daddy. While my son works on his homework he travels to a place in time where his daddy and I were just 19 years old working on our college assignments together, just starting to fall in love.

When my son has that shaky feeling from his sugar dropping too low, I can ease his pain by treating the low, but I have no story to share.

When my son has that angry feeling from his sugar being too high, I can ease his pain by giving him more insulin, but I have no story to share.

When my son cries in the night because his belly hurts from ketones, I can ease his pain with insulin and water, but I have no story to share.

When my son cringes at the thought of taking an unwanted break from playing to check his sugar, I can ease his pain by checking as quickly as possible, but I have no story to share.

The greatest gift we can receive will be a cure. The second greatest gift that I could have received would have been a diagnosis for myself on the day my son was diagnosed. I wish everyday that it were me with Type 1 diabetes instead of my boy. As I cannot switch places with my son, I would gladly take on this disease myself. I want to be able to say, “I know how you  feel,” and mean it.

If I had the option of getting this disease too, I would in a heartbeat. Every finger check, site change, high and low that I would live through would bring me that much closer to knowing what my little boy has to live with everyday of his life.

Until then, I have no stories. I do have plenty of hugs. Fortunately they are limitless.