Got home from work today and the Hubs (who works from home) was still on a conference call. He popped his head out of his office and told me he has another call until 6:30 and if I don’t want to wait until then to eat to go ahead and start dinner. (He usually cooks. He rocks.) I make the executive decision to make a gourmet meal of brinner (bacon and cheddar omelets, hash browns, toast, and some more bacon). Yum.
My sister called me and since it seems like I haven’t talked to her in forever (really, it’s been like 2 days, but that’s a super long time for us!) I took the call while attempting to make my awesome, I-can’t-believe-she-works-full-time-and-puts-meals-like-this-on-the-table, meal. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice that I was in the middle of an out of nowhere, Shelby-style low. “This one hit her (me) fast”. My trusty Dexcom was in my bag, on vibrate. D’oops.
Hung up with the sis and check my BG in anticipation of pre-bolusing. 40. YIKES. In my low fog I thought it was a good idea to finish making dinner, which, of course, dumb idea. I am not so good at cooking meals in which there are many components (casseroles are my specialty). I can never get the timing down. So my lame cooking skills in addition to my low BG made for tonight’s dinner prep to be more of an extreme sport than I anticipated.
So as you can imagine, dinner got nasty burnt, but my husband ate it anyway. And also lectured me to turn off the stove and step out of the kitchen next time while I treat. I think I will listen to him.