Maybe it's peculiar. Or maybe it's understandable due to the symptoms of Charlie's disease. I think I have a drinking problem. There, I said it.

"One milk coming up," I'll tell my daughter, and then proceed to fill her cup a miserly one-third of the way- unsuitable for even the most parched mosquito.

She looks at the cup incredulously. Like I'm joking.

Ben, the 2 year old, is lucky if I give him anything to drink at all during the course of the day. But I can't keep playing this game forever. Eventually, he'll learn how to pronounce the word milk.

"Sorry, Ben, more malk? I don't know what malk is. Is that Czech? Sorry, pal, can't help you if you're not gonna speak English."

It's an odd neurosis that I've observed in myself; one that strangely discourages my non-diabetic children from drinking large quantities of fluids. As if guzzling down a tall glass of milk will bring upon diabetes. I know. It's nuts. I don't want my kids to be thirsty. I don't like the potential outcome of that.

If my daughter asks for another water bottle or apple juice soon after the first, I feel a genuine ping of panic in my heart.

"Really? Didn't you just have a drink?"

"Yeah, but I'm really thirsty today."

"Maybe you just need a hug."

"No, I'm thirsty."

"Have a little gas???"

"Thirsty!"

"Fine, fine. But how about we do imaginary drinks again. Put your hand out like you're holding a cup. Let me see what we have. Ooh, mango-licorice-popcorn juice. Delicious!"

"Dad!"