Don't tell me it's a good thing Charlie was diagnosed so young. Just don't do it. Don't tell me how fortunate it is that he was a baby, too young to have known any other way of life.

It's not a "good thing." It's not the "bright side."

Do any other parents of children with diabetes out there ever get this? I still hear this occasionally from people and it makes me nuts. Some seem to think the biggest challenge is telling our son he can't have a lollypop. But, somehow we're lucky. We're lucky that Charlie was so young, he never formed that special bond between sugar and child. Guess what. He can have a lollypop and he does. He's eating one right now, as a matter of fact. Watermelon.

Excuse me one sec.

"Charlie, get that lollypop out of the baby's hair!"

"Charlie!"

"No! I don't want to see Ben as a unicorn!"

"Ah, I guess you're gonna just show me anyway."

I stand corrected. He can't have lollypops. But, I see his dietary restrictions as the least of our problems.

Charlie is 5 1/2 now. The way I envision it, diabetes is a blotchy-faced bully with a grin like Beelzebub and clammy white skin with scabs on its elbows. It wears a ripped t-shirt with a picture of a green little monster holding up its middle finger and the caption simply says, "FART." It wears black Reebok high-tops with yellow striped socks up to its knees. It's punching and punching and punching and punching Charlie's organs relentlessly like Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. I picture his kidneys getting slapped around violently every day. Every day since he was 1.

"Quit it," his kidneys beg after taking a hard kick to the thigh. Yes, kidneys have thighs. It's all well-documented.

Diabetes laughs. It's got American cheese stuck in its braces and smells like formaldehyde.

"Who are you gonna tell?"

The twin organs say nothing.

His insides have almost four years of wear and tear. His diabetes mileage is high and he's only 5.

If Charlie was destined to get this disease, I'll take diagnosis at age 15 or 20, thank you very much. Less time with this dreadful disease. Fewer vicious punches absorbed. It's hard not to think about long-term complications when your child is diagnosed so young.

Sigh. These are things I think about.

Well, that and how we could really get the baby to look like a unicorn.

"Charlie, go get a glue stick and some flour!"