Motherhood with type 1 diabetes

I’ve lived with Type 1 diabetes (T1D) since I was eight years old. For most of my life, it’s been a constant companion—always there, always demanding my attention. I thought I had figured out how to manage it, being on cruise control for quite some time. But nothing prepared me for navigating motherhood with T1D.

My daughter is six months old. She’s beautiful, curious, and full of life—even when I’m running on fumes. These past months have been the most love-filled, exhausting, and humbling of my life.

The night I’ll never forget

One night captures it all. My one-month old daughter was finally asleep, and I had a precious two-hour window to try to get some sleep. I was bone-tired—the kind of exhaustion that makes your body ache. I crawled into bed, desperate to close my eyes.

And then it hit: the shakiness, the dizziness. My blood sugar was crashing. And right on cue, my pump started beeping—loud, insistent alarms blaring just inches from my sleeping baby.

Instead of sleeping, I sat on the edge of the bed with a juice box in hand, forcing myself to stay awake until my numbers climbed. I kept one eye on my pump and one ear tuned to see if the noise had woken her. My body needed help. My baby was asleep. And my chance at two hours of sleep slipped away.

It was one of those moments where I thought: This is the part no one sees.

The silent juggle

Being a new mom is overwhelming on its own—late nights, physical recovery, emotional highs and lows. Add T1D on top, and it’s a 24/7 job stacked on top of another 24/7 job.

There’s no ‘pause’ button. Even at 3 a.m., while rocking my daughter back to sleep, my mind is still running the math—calculating insulin, wondering if the adrenaline from her cries and the sheer exhaustion will send my blood sugar soaring, but holding back just enough so I don’t overcorrect and crash instead.

And sometimes, diabetes picks the worst moments. Like a night during witching hour when my pump site peeled off completely. My daughter was screaming, my husband was still at work, and I was juggling keeping her calm while trying to keep myself steady—with no time to insert a new site. Hours later—after she finally fell asleep—I could finally change it. By then, my blood sugar was climbing.

Those are the moments no one else sees. The quiet sacrifices. The invisible balancing act.

What I wish people knew

Postpartum is already a mountain to climb. Doing it with a chronic illness adds another layer most people can’t see.

It’s not just physical. It’s emotional.

• The guilt of not being 100% present during a low.

• The fear of something happening when I’m alone with her.

• The quiet grief for the moments diabetes steals—like the sleep I so desperately needed.

Still, we keep going. Because that’s what moms do.

Finding strength in the struggle

Through all of this, I’ve realized something: I’m stronger than I thought.

Even when I’m exhausted, shaky, and stretched thin—I still show up. For my baby. For myself. I keep snacks and supplies nearby. I’m learning to rest when I can, to ask for help, and to give myself grace when the hard days win.

I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m figuring us out—me, my daughter, and my ever-present shadow of T1D.

To other T1D moms

If you’re in the thick of it—blood sugars swinging while your baby cries, or squeezing in self-care between diaper changes—please know this: you are not alone. You are not weak.

You are carrying a heavy load with quiet strength and love, even if no one else fully sees it.

You’re doing what needs to be done. That makes you a warrior—superhuman in the eyes of your little one, and above all else, the very best mom.