I Just Wanna Eat Food

I think my heart has finally stopped pounding and my breathing is returning to normal. But man. If you had been a fly on the wall for the last 20 minutes in this house! Frustration after frustration left me clenching my jaw to keep from shouting some f-bombs (I mumbled them instead) and slamming an even more tightly clenched fist onto the washing machine. I set out to prep the crock pot dinner for tomorrow and make a new batch of coconut creamer for my coffee. Simple enough. Except that it's not. It's never simple. And after my fifth trip out to the garage to use the noisy food processor and cleaning up my third spill in as many minutes, well I had just had it. I was slamming doors and fighting back tears and when Ted came in to ask what was wrong I went into a monologue about onions not getting chopped the right way and coconut milk splattering everywhere and and and and.

"What's it really about?" he said. And it hit me. I just wanna eat food. Regular food. Food that doesn't take an hour and half to prepare. Food that doesn't cost double and triple what everyone else is eating. Just food.

I'm so tired of not being able to eat anything. I don't mind giving up dairy while nursing (too much). But having to give up gluten on top of that had been so, so hard. (In case you're lost, both of my kids have dairy allergies that require me to give it up completely when nursing. And I discovered a pretty severe gluten intolerance in myself and Paul just a few months ago. I suspect Hannah has it too.) 

I just want to eat one piece of freaking sausage without having to call the meat packing company and ask if they have gluten in their seasoning. And when I don't bother to call in hopes that it doesn't, I don't want to feel like shit for the next 24 hours. I want to be able to eat a bowl of cereal that doesn't even contain wheat and not walk around with a balloon in my stomach because it had "oat flour" and was probably contaminated with wheat anyway. Captain Crunch, I know you were wondering. I want to feel like there isn't something pushing on my bladder all day long and being nauseous any time I eat something because I accidentally ate egg noodles (with a teeny, teeny bit of wheat) three freakin days ago.

I'm sick of seeing my baby spit up so much that he can't even crawl away because of the spit up pool he's created around himself is so large that he keeps slipping. All becauses the only pumped milk I had in the freezer had gluten. I'm sick of seeing blood in his poop because I ate twelve gluten freakin free almond crackers that I didn't realize had butter in them. I'm sick of feeling like a ticking time bomb ready to blimp up and make my kid miserable if I accidentally eat the slightest bit of off-limits food. I'm tired of telling Hannah, "No you can't eat that delicious treat that all the others kids are having. It will make your tummy hurt. Here, have your one thousandth raisin of the day."

I'm sick of being a burden to everyone I know. I'm tired of double checking every ingredient of everything someone offers me. I'm tired of not being able to eat when I go to baby showers or vacations because no one thought of (or knew about) my food issues. I've been blessed with wonderful, wonderful friends who go out of their way to see that I can eat at least something when they invite me to their barbecues and ladies' night outs. And I know they would say that they don't mind, but it's still a pain in the ass for them and takes so much extra time and energy to accommodate me. I secretly wonder if one day I'll just stop getting invitations because it's too much trouble to include me.

I'm sick of being hungry all.the.damn.time. I'm sick of not being able to go to Mass without packing a snack for the car ride home. I'm sick of the kitchen looking like this three freakin times a day.

I'm sick of cooking every little thing from scratch. I just want to open up a freaking package of hamburger helper and call it a day. I just want to throw some mac and cheese on a plate and move on with my life. Sure, they make gluten and dairy free substitutes. But unless we win the lottery there's no way we'll ever be able to afford them. As hard as I try I just cannot figure out a way to stay within our grocery budget without buying six dollar pints of "ice cream" and five dollar loaves of "bread". Much less with those added expenses. 

 I'm overwhelmed at the thought that this is going to be for the rest of my life. The thought that at every Thanksgiving I'll have to pass up the mashed potatoes and the gravy and the stuffing and probably the corn because someone added butter just eat my dry turkey dipped in cranberry sauce. The thought that I might never get a break. I might never get better.

Yes, I know it's worth it. I don't really have a choice unless I want my kids to be miserable and in pain and I want to feel like I'm about to pop and/or throw up all the time. And I think I actually do a really good job of not complaining and facing this issue head on. I guess the last two and a half years of not complaining has boiled up inside of me and is now showing itself by punching the washer and crying about chopped onions.

Sorry for my rant, unsuspecting internet readers. I don't blame you for not making it to the end of this bitch complain fest (I think there's been plenty of cussing in this post to last quite a while already). I've calmed down since I started writing but I can't say I feel any better. This is just how it is. Whether I want it or not. There are so many days when I want to throw up my hands and shout, "I didn't sign up for this!" until I remember that I did. I signed up for taking care of my children to the best of my ability. And this is my best. Anything less would be cruel to their poor stomachs. And to mine. I have a supportive husband who thanks profusely for everything I do. A husband who, when I apologize for a crappy meal of bland leftover chicken and green beans, says, "It's a heck of a lot better than what I made tonight," and then eats his meager meal with a smile and a sincere thank you.

If you're one of the lucky people who can go out to dinner and order anything off the menu, will you please say a prayer for me? And if you're one of the ones who went out to eat for your five year anniversary and the only thing you could order off the five page menu was the grilled shrimp without the sauce or the seasoning and not even a side to go with it, well can I get an amen? And a promise that it really is going to be ok?

Gotta go. I'm hungry.