Apparently soft food diet means Soft Food Diet…

As in, little to no chewing.

Not soft foods as tolerated. Apparently “Soft Food Diet” is an actual specific thing.

  • Mechanical Soft: A mechanical soft diet may be prescribed for people who have difficulty chewing or swallowing. In general, mechanical soft foods are chopped, ground or blenderized and prepared with added liquids to make them easier to chew. Recommended foods include soft breads, cooked cereals, cereals softened in milk, canned fruit, juices, cooked vegetables, ground meat, scrambled eggs, cooked dry beans and peas, soft cheeses, yogurt without fruit, custards and puddings, cream soups and noodles. Foods containing nuts or seeds, tough meats, hard breads, raw fruits and vegetables and dried foods should be avoided.

Well Goddammit.

It’s not like I’d been eating steak or anything, I’d just not been limiting myself quite that much. Yogurt without fruit? Damn, that’s just harsh.

So now I’m trying to rack my brain for some interesting things to eat that are also soft. Wow. That sounded incredibly porny. Umm… Oh, right… Attempting to not get bored with soft food.

Here’s what I’ve been eating since I found out my ideas about soft food were just too hard… Ok… really, am I being a perv or does this keep sounding all dirty?

So… Foods I’ve been eating…

  • Eggs. Lots and lots and lots and lots of eggs. I need a lot of protein in my diet because of the DS, so limiting my protein sources is kinda a pain in the arse. Hence… half a dozen eggs a day. No shit. Mostly omelets with onions and mushrooms chopped up all teeny and sautéed to death. And cheese. I tried egg salad but without the bread it’s just fucking gross.
  • Mac n’ cheese. I’m sick of the blue box stuff and it’s also “too chewy,” but the Stouffers is really good and definitely an allowable consistency. Of course, they both have the evil gluten so my family generally needs to evacuate whatever room I’m in about 2-3 hours after I eat it. I did make some homemade over the weekend with gluten-free corn pasta. I put bacon and sautéed onions in my mac n’ cheese as per my usual (because everything is better with bacon) and then discovered I had to pick the pieces of bacon out because they weren’t kosher. Oh right, bacon isn’t kosher. I was using the term figuratively but I guess it works both ways? Rambling. My bad.
  • Refried beans. Not bad with the omelet and some sour cream. Tired to eat them as a stand alone and was reminded of a time I gave Fairy Dog some peanut butter. Have you ever seen a dog with a mouthful of peanut butter? Yeah. That’s not exactly conducive to limiting jaw movement.
  • Oatmeal. Eh. Add a sliced banana and some sugar and it’s serviceable, but it gets old pretty fast.
  • Ice cream and pudding. I swear to God I have put on 10lb in the past three weeks. The good thing is, by the time this is over, I don’t think I’ll ever want either again… Except maybe Ben and Jerry’s. Which I can’t eat now anyway because all the flavors I like have nuts or chocolate chunks or some other thing that would require mastication.
  • Soup. Clam chowder, corn chowder, chicken and corn chowder, chipoltle chicken and corn chowder, butternut squash, lentil, black bean, chicken and rice, chicken noodle…  They are all starting to taste the same.
  • Baloney sandwich with the crust cut off and a lot of mayo and mustard. And now, I’m not exactly sure how I feel about giving my children meat and bread that are that easy to smush. That just doesn’t sound… healthy.
  • Meatloaf. I made it last week with a lot of bread, egg and milk and it came out very easy to mush. Smothered in gravy, it was pretty damn good.
  • Stewed chicken. Apparently dark meat only. I tried some chicken breast stewed and shredded and it was still kinda… Stringy. No good.
  • Rice and mashed potatoes. Very filling. All carbs. No nutritional value. Still, harder to chew meats and veggies are a lot more palatable ground up if they’re mixed in with mashed potatoes and butter. And maybe some cheese too.
  • String cheese. Unlike cubed cheese, if I shred it thin enough, it requires virtually no chewing. It’s apparently also extremely entertaining to watch me sit and concentrate on a (rather phallic-looking) piece of cheese and meticulously peel off little strips. Oh, and it is completely impossible to eat when The Peach is around. She loves the stuff. A lot. Yesterday I actually saw her snatch all four of the nice, toddler-sized pieces of cheese I had laid out for her and cram them into her mouth with both hands all at once. And then she waddled away at top speed so I couldn’t stop her. Like I was really going to try and get it out of her mouth at that point. Ew.

And that’s pretty much it. Which for someone as picky about food as I am is not a whole lot. Before The Zen Master and I got together, I threw out a LOT of food. I would cook something, inevitably make way too much and then get bored after about one round of leftovers. Since I now have 2 Human Hoovers in my house (and a dustbuster too), We almost never throw out leftovers. But now, I end up going into the kitchen 5-6 times, opening the fridge, freezer and all the cupboards, getting annoyed because there’s nothing to eat and then then stomp back to my room, still hungry. I’m sitting here right now typing this, listening to my stomach growl and scowling because I know that, although the fridge and freezer are so full you couldn’t fit another thing in them, there is not a single thing in the house I actually want to eat. And The Zen Master is starting to look nervous. Because he knows what happens when I’m hungry.Sorry_for_the_unkind_words_I_spoke_of_hunger


5 more minutes?

The Peach is not sleeping in her own bed. Again. It’s 6am on Sunday morning and I’m awake because a sweaty midget assassin just kicked me in the boob.
I went to the bathroom, came back and this…


That’d be my pillow. In her sleep, she took over my side of the bed.

Stupid baby.

The Toddler Mandates

I’ve been through this already. I had a toddler just a decade ago… Wait… That is a long time isn’t it? I’m not sure if it’s because it’s been so long or if it’s because Princess Punk was such an easygoing kid and The Peach is… Not. I seem to be learning new rules and mandates every day that must be followed in order to prevent anarchy and mass chaos. Or at least the total destruction of our home and all our property.

Here are just a few of the unspoken rules for the caretakers of the miniature Whirling Dervish, AKA, The Peach…

  • Do not bother saying “No” unless you are expeditiously on your way over there to take whatever it is she’s not supposed to have out of her hand. Otherwise the (mulch/pebble/dog food/dog hair/paper/electronic device/crayon/WTF is that anyway?) will be hastily crammed into a mouth clamped so tight you need a crowbar to get it open.
  • Do not say “Give me that” or, “Can I have that?” unless you have a paper towel handy. It WILL be slimy.
  • Protect any sensitive areas of your body within range of hands, feet and head. Her moveable body parts move unexpectedly and are apparently made of lead. Crazy Girl was once the victim of a cranial attack from her nephew. He was fine. She broke a tooth.
  • Unless covered in some substance that would necessitate furniture shampooing upon exposure, bath time should be reserved for the VERY end of the day. Otherwise it is a completely wasted effort.
  • Do not attempt to put her in the crib until she passes The Arm Test. Lift her arm three times and drop it. If it falls with a boneless thump every time, you’re good. Any hint of residual muscle activity? You might as well just suck it up and endure the sweaty lump of child in the middle of your bed for another hour.
  • When getting ready to leave the house, give yourself 30 more minutes than you think you need. That way you’ll only be fashionably late as opposed to an asshole.
  • Constantly scan area for prohibited items. If there is a (cell phone/remote control/glass of liquid/candy wrapper/purse/bottle/diabetic supply kit) anywhere at all in her general viscinity, she will find it. And attempt to (eat/drink/break/feed it to the dog), generally accomplished before you can get to her.
  • Do NOT get in between her and The Street. If you deign to step between The Peach and a television set featuring an annoyingly happy, fuzzy, red, blue or orange Muppet cousin you will get yelled at with a stream of imaginative but completely nonsensical toddler curses.
  • Don’t try to play with her unless she initiates. If you interrupt her serious pondering of the square wooden puzzle piece or attempt to assist her acrchitectural endevour with plastic blocks, you will be reprimanded and possibly smacked.
  • Observe but, unless medically necessary, do not react to; gagging, head slamming, hitting, pinching, screaming or pouting.
  • There is a difference between engine noise (bbbbrrrrrrrrbbbb) and spitting (pppppbbbbttthhh) and she knows it.
  • Do not teach her funny noises or actions that could be miscontrued outside the inner circle. Fake snoring looks a lot like motorboating Mommy’s boobs.
  • Princess Punk is NOT an acceptable babysitter when there is ready access to the internet, her nook or text messaging. I once watched The Peach attempt to skydive off the arm of the couch, 6 inches away from The Princess.
  • Do not offer more than one type of food at a time and make sure Fairy Dog is readily available. Food must be eaten in sequence, not all together. Both hot dogs and macaronis are favorites but, given at the same time will result in a food missile aimed at your head or an adamant release over the side of the tray. Variety is fun, but not on the floor.
  • Related to the aforementioned food rule; do not bother wiping her up until she is done eating AND out of the high chair. Even if it looks like there is no food or drink there, she will find something and proceed to mash it into her hair.
  • When fixing a plate for yourself, add 25-30% more than you think you will eat. It will either end up eaten by a voracious Peach or scooped up by Fairy Dog when it hits the floor.
  • When in public places with walls and a roof (grocery store, mall, doctor’s office, etc.), prepare to be embarassed. When grocery shopping last week, she decided that 5 minutes was long enough and it was time to leave. She then spent the next 20 minutes yelling “BUH-BYE BUH BYE BYEEEEEE BUHBYE” and the top of her larger-than-normal-capacity lungs.
  • Take it all with a grain of salt and ask her “where’s your nose?” followed by “where’s your mouth?” and watch her stick her finger up her nose and then put it in her mouth. And take pictures while she does it.

First boy she brings home gets to see those… Payback’s a bitch.

I can’t decide…

I can’t decide if she is trying to kill herself or if she is just fucking stupid.

SIX Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies.


At 26g of carbs each. She takes is supposed to take a unit of insulin for every 7g of carbs she eats.

That’d be 156g of carbs, needing 22.2 units of insulin.

She must have taken some because her blood sugar was only 464 six hours later. After a dinner bolus (I hope).

I think I’m going to wire her jaw shut so she can only have liquids that I provide and can count for and cover.

Maybe I could lock her in her room and shove food under the door… Of course, then I’d have to cut a hole in the door for her to stick her pump through so I can ensure insulin delivery.

Stupid fucking obstinate self-destructive child.

I’d kill her but I think she’s gonna beat me to it.

While I was in the hospital getting my iron infusion however long ago, Princess Punk was upstairs seeing Dr. Hottie. Given my general feeling of crappiness, I didn’t post at that time. But tonight, sitting here writing out a heartfelt plea for financial assistance for Diabetes Camp while simultaneously snapping at The Princess to “quit fucking around and test your sugar already,” I decided it was time for a good, hearty, Diabetes Sucks/My Teenager ia an Asshole post.

Her A1C is back up. 9.2. Giving her an average blood sugar for the 3 months prior of, (angry drumroll please) 250. That’d be more than twice the high end of normal (70-120).

Part of this is hormones. Without a doubt, because the D-Monster is a savage, unpredictable jackhole, some of the high blood sugar readings she gets are completely out of her control.

Most of it though? Most of those red numbers on the neat little graphs generated when we upload her data from her insulin pump, most of those long gaps with no numbers at all and God only knows how high they were then…

That’s her doing.

To be more accurate, that’s her NOT doing. NOT testing her blood sugar. NOT covering any high numbers with extra insulin (aka bolus). NOT bolusing every time she eats. NOT giving the carb count in her food more than a perfunctory guess.  NOT bolusing for the carbs that she actually does calculate.

I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I don’t know why she isn’t doing these things. Granted, some of it is just a pain in the ass so maybe she’s just skipping it. But there are times on the graph when she tested her blood sugar and did not bolus a high number. Which means she took out her meter, put a test strip in it, pricked her finger, put a drop of blood on the strip, wiped off her finger (usually on the kit itself or her pants, ew), felt her insulin pump buzz because the reading was outside of the “happy” range and then didn’t press the one button that would deliver the extra insulin she needed. That could not have possibly been a forgetful mistake. She can do it without even looking. I’ve seen it.

She made a conscious decision to NOT give herself something vital that her body desperately needs.

I do not understand. And I don’t know what to do. She’s 13. We can’t do it for her. It’s just not possible.I was pondering whether or not we could admit her somewhere so she could be monitored 24/7. So that every bite of food, every carb she eats, every drop of insulin is carefully accounted for and recorded. At least that way we would know how much insulin she actually needs. We can’t even figure that out right now because she is so inconsistent with testing and entering what she eats.

We’ve been seeing a behavioral therapist for awhile now. The Zen Master and I have been working hard at trying to get some kind of system in place that would help Princess Punk be more mindful about taking care of herself. The Princess herself is about as compliant with therapy as she is with her diabetes management. Should she deign to come into the session with us, she sits there sullenly and responds only to direct questions and only with a mumbled, “I guess or, “I dunno.”

And there it is. The D-Monster is taking the lead. It bolted out of it’s tight grip and is now dragging us down the road on our knees while we valiantly try to hang on to the leash.

Diabetic nephropathy – The syndrome can be seen (in lab results) in patients with chronic diabetes, after about 5 years in type 1 diabetes (that’d be 2 years from now. TWO). Clinical nephropathy (visible on medical imaging) secondary to diabetes usually manifests 15–25 years after diagnosis of diabetes and affects 25-35% of patients under the age of 30 years. It is the leading cause of premature death in young diabetic patients (between 50 and 70 years old). The disease is progressive and may cause death two or three years after the initial lesions. The risk is higher if blood-glucose levels are poorly controlled.

Diabetic nephropathy continues to get gradually worse. Complications of chronic kidney failure are more likely to occur earlier, and progress more rapidly, when it is caused by diabetes than other causes. Even after initiation of dialysis or after transplantation, people with diabetes tend to do worse than those without diabetes. (Wikipedia)



In 15 years, Princess Punk will be 28 years old.

Guess What?!?



I am completely scatterbrained. I just walked into the kitchen, walked out again, walked in again and stood there for a full minute trying to remember what the fuck I went there for in the first place. It’s a pretty small kitchen.

I keep forgetting words mid-sentence. This is actually not completely abnormal for me since my ADD occasionally hijacks my train of thought and abruptly pulls a conversation WAY off the tracks. But recently? It’s been pretty frequent. Like every conversation I have is interspersed with random pauses wherein I scowl at the ceiling and silently (or not silently) curse while I try to remember the fucking word for that thing… in the living room… you know, the thing… that you sit on… like a chair? but bigger?


I’m sorry, the correct answer was “What is a couch? Yes, that’s; what is(dramatic pause) a couch.”

Earlier, while attempting to have a coherent conversation with a co-worker who happens to be a psychologist, I had one of these complete lapses in my command of the English language, I was asked if I was put under general anesthesia (as opposed to a local with a sedative). When I told him that I was, he informed me that the aftereffects of anesthesia can last several weeks and that I would probably be stupid for another week or two.

c_is_for_cookieOk, he’s very nice and he actually said that I’d probably have another week or so of memory problems and difficulty finding words. This caused a mental giggle as I got a brief image in my head of The Cookie Monster frantically searching for the word “Cookie” spelled out in big letters made of cookies (how awesome would that be???). And then I remembered that ‘C’ is for cookie and that’s good enough for him…

Jesus, I have to stop watching Sesame Street with The Peach.

Anyway, after my momentary departure from reality, we finished up our conversation with another assurance from him that this was not at all permanent.



Walk for the Cure!

The Annual Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) “Walk for the Cure” will be on May 19th in Hinesburg, VT.

Since I don’t blatantly post any personal info on my blog (not that I’m anonymous, just discreet) I won’t be posting our team name, but if you would like to make a donation to the cause in general, just go to this site and give them your credit card, bank account, social security number, W-2’s and…

Really?? Oh, my bad.

Just a credit/debit card is apparently sufficient.

Anyway… Princess Punk, The Zen Master, The Peach and I not to mention all the other people in our lives thank you very much for paying attention to my miserable plea for help so that my kiddo might not have to deal with this crap her whole life.

Help us squash The D-Monster!!!

Ain't she purty?? THEN DONATE!!!

Ain’t she purty?? THEN DONATE!!!


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