Page 14 of Sexted By Santa
“Daddy,” she groaned. “What about the decorations? And the cake thing! I saw it on a YouTube video, and it’s so cool!”
Ah great. YouTube. I hoped it wasn’t one of those absolutely ridiculous projects I’d have no hope of accomplishing.
I forced a smile. “Lucky for us, we have a whole day to work, huh? But let’s start with some yummy pancakes and go from there.”
* * *
Tori and I stood back and admired our handiwork later that day. “What do you think? Would it make Madison proud?”
“It’s awesome,” Tori said. She seemed a little shaky.
I guided her down to the sofa and scanned her glucose sensor with the reader device that would display her blood sugar data. Sure enough, her sugar was low. Not low enough to set off her glucose monitor alarm, but low enough to make her feel like crap.
I knew she’d done good job managing her insulin this morning with breakfast. I’d kept my word and not checked, but she’d helped me clean and decorate the tree with no problem. We’d even strung popcorn to make our own garland. She’d been skeptical until I showed her a YouTube video I tracked down. Apparently, if something was on YouTube, it gained a ton of credibility with kids—while doing just the opposite for me. But hey, sometimes you had to fight fire with fire.
“Let me get you a juice box,” I said.
Tori wrinkled her nose. She didn’t love the Hawaiian Punch boxes, but nothing was better for a quick dose of sugar. “Okay. Sorry, Daddy.”
“Don’t be sorry. We’ve been working hard today, that’s all.”
I grabbed the juice out of the fridge and handed it over. Tori dutifully guzzled it down and pulled a face as she finished.
“Want some ice water to chase it?”
“No.” Her bottom lip stuck out. She was sulking, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Well, I think our decorations look pretty good. This Christmas is going to be great.”
I injected my voice with as much energy as I could muster. I was tired after vacuuming, mopping, picking up clutter, setting up the tree, and decorating. The place did look much more festive now. I wanted Tori to have that, so it was well worth the effort.
But there was still that dessert to make. I’d watched the video. It didn’t look super challenging at least. Marshmallows rolled up in dough balls, dusted with hot cocoa powder, stacked into a small tower, drenched in melted chocolate, then baked in a cake pan to create a sort of monkey bread with chocolate balls that tore off. It looked fun and inventive.
“Yeah.” Tori’s voice quivered, and her eyes began to water.
“What’s wrong?” I crouched in front of her. “Do you feel sick? Finish that juice off.”
“I’m fine. I drank enough. It’s just…I m-m-messed up, and now you’ll never let me go to Madison’s!”
She broke out into heartbreaking sobs.
“Oh, baby. No. No, no. You didn’t mess up anything.”
“I was doing my pump today.”
“And you did it right.”
I took a seat beside her on the sofa and pulled her into my lap, where she curled into me and hid her face. I smoothed her hair, trying to give her comfort. “I know I worry, and I’m pretty insistent about checking. I worry about you, Tori. But it’s no one’s fault when things like this happen.”
Sure, without recognizing her symptoms and giving her the sugar she needed, she might have grown dizzy, even fainted. If not treated, it could become serious. Thatwasa concern to me. But I couldn’t expect Tori to anticipate these situations. Food wasn’t the only enemy when someone had diabetes. There was exercise, going too long between meals, lack of sleep, and stress. Right now, Tori was definitely stressed—though it was a combination of working hard around the house and not eating enough that probably led us to this situation.
Her pediatrician had told me when she was diagnosed, “The only thing predictable about Type 1 Diabetes is that it will be unpredictable.”
I was still trying to cope with that. And sometimes in my zeal to protect Tori, I forgot how she must feel about being hovered over and checked up on.
“You didn’t mess up,” I said. “You did everything right.”
She blinked wet eyelashes at me. “But…what about spending the night with friends? Will you ever let me?”
