“But now the forbidden fruit must be tasted!” Mugatu, Zoolander
No free clam chowder samples?
No ice cream cone?
No chocolates from the candy store?
A walk with my hubs down Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, Ca., was a big reminder of what it means to go dairy free.
To address the aforementioned spit up problem…I’m testing a dairy-free existence. “They” say that a breasteeding mama’s consumption of dairy can trickle its way down to baby in the form of a milk allergy or lactose intolerance. “They” are careful to point out the difference between the two, but spit up and diarrhea are the lowest common denominator for the both, and if I need to cut out the dairy to reduce the number of loads of laundry I do, I am willing!
Hubs is SO supportive, he even sampled nutritional yeast (“nooch” to our vegan friends out there, of which I don’t think we have any). Ick. I keep trying it…but that stuff is just truly revolting to me. (Have a brand you really recommend? Maybe I bought the wrong kind?)
So far we have had
- Cheese-free Pizza with Smoked Oysters, Oyster Mushrooms and Parsley Garlic Tofu Sauce (made it up myself, I did). Not bad. You really have to compensate with the other toppings when you leave out the cheese.
- Pho. Thank heavens for Asian cuisine and its lack of dairy almost everywhere!
- Green Curry with FAKE CHICKEN (that was just for fun because my hubby is such a good sport) and veggies
Things I would have eaten in the last three days if I weren’t reading labels:
- Almost everything that is frozen/grab-n-go at Trader Joe’s. Ravioli, risotto, pasta, pizza, even stuffed flounder had cheese in it.
- Sour Cream and Onion Pringles. Oops. I did have two, but realized my mistake. Probably shouldn’t be eating those anyway since I still have baby fat I am trying to lose.
- A sip of the smoothie I make for my husband every morning (to make sure it tastes good).
That’s just a short list, but it’s amazing how Important Cheese Is. I know there is a whole dairy-free movement out there, and I know the arguments, but that’s not the purpose of the experiment right now. I still love cheese.
Half of me hopes the dairy thing fixes the problem with the spit up, but the other half hopes it doesn’t. (Obviously, yes, I would rather my girl not spit up. Duh…)
According to my mother, I was the perfect child. (Sidenote: she actually was the perfect mother.) I didn’t cry, I didn’t use a pacifier, I had no sleep problems… I mean she really remembers it this way (God love her).
I was not so optimistic when I was pregnant. I anticipated a colicky, pooping, peeing, demanding little human being who would threaten to hurl me right into PPD. Not so much. She really hasn’t been that bad, although she cries, uses a pacifier and regularly demands to nurse every three hours most days.
However, I was NOT prepared for the spit up.
When she’s awake, if she’s not eating, she’s spitting up.
It’s so annoying! Just when I’m cuddling with my princess, splat! New homemade outfit from grandma? Splat! I’ve just changed out of one spit-covered outfit into something nice and dry? Splat!
My latest attempt to do something about this is cutting dairy out of my diet. We’ll see how that goes. Did it work for you?
After three years of trying to start a family, we finally have a baby girl. And yet…I found something to complain about.
My poor high heels are collecting dust in the closet.
Since moving to a hilly, chilly area on the “crunchier” side of fashion, leaving the full-time corporate workplace, and having a baby girl, my high heels are having a hard time fitting into my life. Which is a shame because even though I am still about two sizes away from my entire pre-baby wardrobe, my feet seemingly have SHRUNK since having a baby and all of my shoes fit just fine!
I just don’t have many chances to wear them. After wearing heels daily for at least the last 17 years, I am suffering an identity crisis of sorts. I need to get back in those shoes!
The good news is I am actively working to promote my marketing consulting business, which should lead to a few more professional endeavors. I also rejoined Rotary, so I can at least look like an adult once a week. I’m sure my husband would love to see them a little more often as well (wink wink).
When I took a photo of this at the pier in Santa Barbara, I had no idea it was a metaphor for this phase of my life
All of the cool girls are there.
I recently looked up my Pledge Class of 1992 Chi Omega sisters on Facebook. Not only are every single one of them stunningly beautiful (no surprise)…but they nearly all had children!
My friends and neighbors seemingly all are pregnant or active Stroller Strides Members. Or even tougher, sport kids around 7-8 years old, reminding me how far behind I am.
I know it’s my fault for waiting until I was 35. But seeing how I didn’t meet My Perfect Husband until I was 33…well…what was I supposed to do?
So I stand outside the velvet rope and keep trying to talk the doorman to let me in…