Mama Bears

Mr. High Maintenance Diabetic is a 5th grade boy who is so sheltered he doesn't know how to tie his own shoes. No one has taught him, and he's happy to stay as naive for as long as possible. I worry that he'll be eaten alive in middle school, but that's another story. His mother, who I think is actually his grandmother, is extremely protective. Case in point: she'll keep him home if he sneezes. I do not exaggerate, once after he was absent I asked her why he was gone, she said, "He sneezed." Literally, that was her answer.

Anyway, the mother scared my little tail off when I first got to know them; I feared she'd rip my head off if I made a mistake with her little boy. I'm far more comfortable now, but the reality I deal with every day, and with every child, is that I'm taking care of somebody's baby. (Careful, "Somebody's Baby," it's one heck of an earworm. At least for me.) So imagine my reaction when his mom decided to drop of his lunch at lunchtime, and signed in as a visitor so she could watch me give his insulin. It's something I do on a daily basis, but my goodness, the pressure is palpable when the parent is watching over you. I swallowed my annoyance and had Mr. High Maintenance prepare the shot himself, and knew he felt the pressure in the room too when he looked at me and asked, "Are you really going to make me do this?" I've had to clean scrapes and call 9-1-1 in front of parents, but there's just something about being the only healthcare provider and delivering insulin to a little boy while his mother watches that was just downright terrifying. 

As usual, I should have had no reason to worry. I played it cool, and made casual conversation with Mama Bear throughout, and she didn't look twice at what I was doing. Trust thyself, even if a Mama Bear is hovering.