My boys fall and get hurt all the time. We have ice packs in our freezer, boxes of band aids in the bathroom drawer and a first aid kit in the trunk of the minivan. Just yesterday, Will fell on the playground and hit his head, Miles fell out of the rip in the trampoline netting and Reid hit his head on the table. Everyone is fine, they were minor injuries with no blood, but this gives you an idea of the bumps and bruises in our daily lives.
One of Reid’s first words was “boo-boo.” For months after he fell outside and skinned his knees he would point to his lower body and say, “boo-boo.” The scab was long gone but still, the memory of his injury lingered. “It’s all gone,” I would tell him, but he continued to point to his knees and say boo-boo so finally I gave up and nodded, “Yes, Reid’s boo-boo.” What was it that fascinated him about his skinned knees I wondered? Was it his developing language, was it because he was excited that he could say the word and make a connection to his body? Or was it more about the blood and pain he’d experienced?
I took Reid for a bike ride this morning because it is a beautiful day (November 14th, 75 and sunny), and because we needed to return books to the library. Reid sat in the bike seat right behind me and as we rode, he lifted my shirt, touched my pod on my lower back and said “Boo-Boo.” He’s done this before with my omnipod. If he catches a glimpse while I’m getting dressed or feels it when he grabs me from behind, he’ll touch the pod and call it “Mommy’s boo-boo.” The first time he said it I laughed and thought it was cute, but lately it’s got me thinking. What does a boo-boo mean to a toddler? And does Reid see me as hurt?
I recently wrote about how I had a love hate relationship with my omnipod. I love how it makes my life easier, but I hate to wear it, hate how it looks, hate how it feels on my skin. I wrote about how I only wear the pod on my lower back because: “out of sight, out of mind.” I’ve tried wearing it on my arm (it always rips off), on my leg (painful, don’t think I did it right), and my stomach (way too visible.) In fact, I took the pod off for the entire summer because it was so expensive that I’d gotten over my head with what I owed, and because it was too visible during the skimpier clothing of summer months. I went back to wearing the pod this fall after I paid my bill down a bit and when the weather cooled (sweater season). I wore the pods on my lower back, out of sight.
But recently I’ve started to worry that I’m not moving the pod around enough and perhaps that is messing with my insulin absorption. My blood sugars were running a bit higher (turned out I was getting my period) and it started me thinking I should try another location. “But I hate to wear it anywhere else!” I complained to my mom who said something wise about loving every part of ourselves, and there was that little kid voice in my head saying yuck!
Riding my bike past my older children’s school, I thought about what my mom said. I peddled my bike past the school and Reid lifted up my shirt again to say, “Boo-Boo” and I told him, “No. It’s not a boo-boo, it’s a band aid. Mommy’s okay.” Because I am okay and I don’t want him to think that I’m not.
I don’t want Reid to think that the pod means I’m hurt, or that I’m hiding a part of myself. Maybe it will do both of us some good to have me wear my pod in plain sight.