Diabetes and princesses

"Lyla, can you try to look less like Rambo?"


"Teese."

Julie's three-hour gestational diabetes is tomorrow morning. She cannot eat until then. I think I'll sleep downstairs tonight.

So she doesn't, you know, try to eat me.

I really hope she passes this test. If she doesn't, then we'll have to regulate her diet and poke her fingers every day to test her blood. There will be no more Cocoa Krispies, no more ice cream, and no more Chinese food. For her. And I don't think I'll be able to resist teasing her about it, which will lead to tension in the marriage.

In other news, we're officially waiting a week on the switch to the big-girl bed. We've also changed the name: it's now the princess bed. When Lyla's a princess, she'll get to sleep in it.

"Lyla, in a week you'll be a princess. And do you know where princesses sleep?"

"Yeah!"

"Where?"

"Pincess bed."

Genius.