"You Don’t Have Diabetes"

We stopped at a coffee shop this morning, and I got Haisley a chocolate chip cookie and an apple juice.

She was happily eating her cookie in the car when Jimmy asked if he could have a bite.

“No.”

A clear, immediate denial. Her cookie. Her rules.

Then I said, “Mama’s blood sugar is low. Can she have a bite?”

“Sure, Mama.”

No hesitation whatsoever.

Jimmy, apparently believing the terms of the agreement had changed, tried again.

“Can Daddy have a bite too?”

“No, Daddy. You don’t have diabetes.”

😭😭😭

And yes, the ruthless three-year-old logic is objectively hilarious. Mama has a documented medical need. Daddy is simply attempting to acquire recreational cookie. Request denied.

But underneath the comedy, I cannot stop thinking about what had to happen inside her tiny brain for her to reach that conclusion.

She understands.

Maybe not diabetes in the way an adult understands it. She doesn’t know what insulin does or why my pancreas decided to retire early. But she knows Mama’s blood sugar can go low. She knows that when it does, Mama needs sugar. She knows food becomes medicine, and sharing stops being optional.

And somehow, at only three years old, she applied all of that to a brand-new situation.

She wasn’t just repeating something she has heard us say. She recognized the problem, understood what would help, and determined that my need was different from Daddy simply wanting a bite of her cookie.

It is mind-boggling to realize how much our children absorb from the ordinary rhythms of our lives. The pump changes. The Dexcom alarms. The juice boxes tucked into every bag. The moments when Mama has to stop what she is doing and eat something, even when nobody else is having a snack.

She has been watching. Not fearfully. Just carefully.

And when Mama needed help, her cookie was immediately mine too.

I hate that diabetes is part of the world she is growing up in. But I love that, to her, taking care of someone you love is simply what you do.

Unless, of course, you’re Daddy and you just want a bite.

Then you’d better bring a qualifying diagnosis.