His moist, hot breath fills my ear with the scent of wild cherry bubble gum.
"She’s pretty," he whispers.
He is referring to the hostess who had just seated us.
I’m surprised Charlie tells me this. Talk of pretty girls is generally reserved for mom. Aware of the rare moment, I decide to press further.
"How about the waitress? Think she’s pretty?"
"Mmm hmm," he says, looking around to make sure the coast is clear. "But the other is prettier."
Of course Charlie’s diabetes is nothing to be ashamed of, but I don’t enjoy announcing it unnecessarily to the world. I feel like I’m selling him out when I do so.
Like on this night at the restaurant.
We were just doing dessert and my hope was to keep it simple. We had just come off of a not-so-fun period of high blood sugars. Nothing with carbs too difficult to calculate. I was thinking vanilla ice cream.
"Sure," the perky waitress said. "We have vanilla ice cream."
"But, just to let you know, we have a really good M&M ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate sauce and … (I sort of tuned out at that point because the image in my head of this mountainous dessert made it an immediate deal-breaker)
… and marshmallows and gummy bears and rock candy and licorice and sprinkles and maple syrup and sugar cubes and kerosene and strawberry daiquiri mix and …
"Sir?"
"Sorry. So is that like just M&Ms sprinkled on top or …"
Small puddles of saliva were collecting on the table below Maeve and Charlie’s chins.
"No," our waitress said. "It’s more like M&M flavor ice cream."
Maeve and Charlie had their pleading eyes kicked into high gear.
"Please, dad!!!!!!!!!"
"It does sound good," I told the waitress.
"Charlie, here, has type 1 diabetes. I think it would be best if we just go with the vanilla ice cream."
I did it. Yuck! I felt so dirty. I totally sold him out. I should have told her he was wearing Incredible Hulk underpants while I was at it.
For her part, the waitress handled the situation beautifully.
"You guys are going to love our vanilla ice cream," she said to the kids. "Maybe a tiny bit of whipped cream on top?"
"Sure," I said.
"And for you sir?"
"Me? Oh, right. Uh, I’ll have the Hunka Chunka fudge and cookie dough sundae with caramel and crushed Kit-Kat topping."
If only parenting were easy, or children came with instruction books. You had to make a tough call and when Charlie is older he'll know that.
Maybe you "sold him out" because you yourself are seeking any means of support and validation for what you have always experienced having a child with diabetes. You need support too, and you ought not feel "dirty" for needing support.
Have you considered discussing this issue with Charlie himself? Something tells me he would forgive you. :-)
I feel your pain, brotha. Whenever I try to casually ask the waiter for nutritional info, they always assume I'm on Weight Watchers, and invariably will point out the "Healthy Choices" section of the menu. No thanks, pal, I'll take my burger *with* a bun; I just need to know how many carbs are in my kid's dinner!
BTW, if you're looking for a restaurant with comprehensive nutritional info, a recent visit to Red Lobster netted us their entire menu's nutritional info printed out, even though we only asked for the popcorn shrimp carb count. :)