Sorry seems to be the hardest word.

I am not a scholar by any stretch of the imagination. Nor do I have hundreds of thousands of dollars invested in higher education. No, I am your average High School graduate with some street smarts and alot of "life experiences" under my belt. I am not an eloquent blogger, turning the everyday into poetry. My words and stories will probably never win any literary kudos. Some of my favorite d-bloggers are geniuses at this and I wish that I could be even a smidgen like them, but I can't mold myself into something I clearly am not. I write about life, and I try to be as honest as I can.

The ugly bits are sometimes all I can think about.

Noah's one year pump anniversary is coming up ,and I've been going over the last year in my head. I would love to say that it's been nothing short of awesome, what with the new found pump freedom and such. Should be no sweat. It was a tough transition and only in the past 4 months have we really been able to relax around here.

To be frank, I can be a bit controlling and picky. things have to be a certain way. In trying to make everything in our family life run perfectly smooth , I can be quite the bitch if something does not go my way. During the first few months of getting used to the pump, I was impossible to please. Now,to give you an idea of the kind of guy he is, my husband is quite possibly the best and most patient man on the face of the Earth. He is an incredible father, attentive, fair, fun and kind. As a husband, he is my best friend. I can truly call him my partner. I trust him with my life, and love him like crazy.

During this time, he was learning and trying to do his best. He slipped up a couple times while learning, as we all do. I was panicked, and took it out on him. I must have said a million times, "what would happen if I dropped dead tomorrow?!?!?! You would have no clue how to do all the D. stuff."!! I called him an ass under my breath, snatched infusion sets away from him in a huff, and instead of reminding him how it was done, made comments about how he "didn't even pay attention when the pump lady came to the house to teach us".

I was terrible. I was mean.

Looking back, it's easy to see I was clearly afraid I would be the one to screw the pooch, but instead of confessing my fears, I lashed out on the easiest and most convenient person -my sweet husband who was just trying his hardest to help our son. This is not the person I normally am. I spent my time from day one of the diagnosis trying to be strong, brave, tough, whatever. I became a bully to the one person I promised to trust and support forever.

If there was a way to go back and change how I acted in those situations, you betcha I would go.

I guess this is a public apology of sorts, and to my sweet husband I say, "I'm so sorry, and I love you."