The Horror

JG is 17 months old now and she is gradually growing out of her milk and soy intolerances.  Thank Jesus, because let me tell you, having to avoid those two things drains all the fun out of feeding her.  She still can't eat raw milk (so, having a glass of milk is out), but having milk baked into something is okay... even though it totally gives her the farts.

Which brings us to me.

Before this whole milk fiasco began I loved milk.  Ice cream.  Cereal with cold milk poured over it.  Cream cheese icing.  Soups with cream mixed in.  Oh man... really, anything made delicious by milk, I loved.

And now.

Now.

I'm afraid there may be some sort of genetic reason JG has an intolerance, because I'm almost 95% positive that I am lactose intolerant.

How do I know, you ask?

Let's just say that whenever I eat something made with milk it makes itself known.  At school this last week I made myself some coffee with hot cocoa mixed in (wonderfully scrumptious) and about thirty minutes later I was surrounded by a cloud of stench so thick I worried about students coming up to me and passing out.

It is horrendously embarrassing what milk does to my guts.

The good thing is that my students probably suspect their peers before they think of me.  As far as they know I am devoid of body functions and I'd like to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, milk isn't always silent as it travels the twists and turns of my bowels.  Sigh.

So, it turns out that I've been limiting the amount of goodies I eat... or, I should say, the times.  I totally just ate two doughnuts.  In quick succession.  And a cookie.

I have problems.