I did something small that felt incredibly big: I put on a CGM, just like Kay.
She stood right next to me, counted to three in her sweet little voice, and I clicked it on. Without missing a beat, she looked at me and said, “Good job, mommy!”
And just like that, my heart completely melted.
This wasn’t about me needing to wear a CGM. It was about showing Kay that she is not alone in this journey. That the thing she has to do every few days — the site changes, the counting, the bravery — isn’t something she carries by herself. It’s something we walk through together.
We talk a lot about how strong our kids are, but sometimes we forget how much courage it actually takes to live in a body that needs extra care. For Kay, wearing a CGM is normal life now. For me, even putting one on temporarily gave me a new appreciation for what she does without complaint.
We’re incredibly grateful to a friend who gifted us extra CGMs so I could do this alongside her. Some of them are Stelo devices, which track glucose but don’t connect to insulin pumps like Kay’s does. This gave me the opportunity to step into her world — not just as her mom and advocate, but as someone experiencing it with her.
What surprised me most wasn’t the device itself. It was the role reversal. Kay cheering me on the same way I cheer her on during site changes felt like a full-circle moment I didn’t know I needed. In that moment, she wasn’t the child needing comfort — she was the encourager.
And that’s when it hit me: these moments matter.
Representation matters. Kids seeing themselves reflected in the people they love matters. Showing up — even in small, symbolic ways — matters.
I plan to keep wearing this CGM for as long as I can. I want Kay to see that I’m still wearing it. That I didn’t just do this once for a video or a moment, but because I truly want her to know that if she has to do this, she doesn’t have to do it alone.
Because one day, when diabetes feels heavy or frustrating or unfair, I want her to remember this feeling — the counting, the cheering, the “good job.” I want her to remember that her mom stood beside her and said, “Me too.”
You are brave, Kay. You are strong. And you are never alone.
Always.