Goodbye, dairy, my old friend ...

I don't know when it started but it took us forever to clue in.

First we had a newborn. Which you just expect to be hard. And it was Nate, which made it even harder. Then we had a baby and a toddler and life was flashing by and I went back to work for a bit and then we moved across the country (what were we thinking??)

A little stress was expected.

Then we were living in a strange city, with family, and trying to find a house. I was sick almost every week, which started as a joke but continued long past the point of being funny. The kids weren't well a fair amount too, so it was easy to blame on them. One doctor I went to about the constant sinus pain just said that with little kids around, I could expect to be sick non-stop for the next five years.

Thanks, that's helpful.

But then we were in our own house. And the kids were more self-sufficient than they used to be. But I was still exhausted. Every day, all day. Other people would mention "enjoying" their children and I had no idea what that meant. Friends had newborns and seemed happier than we were.

It got to the point that I would tell total strangers not to have children. I blamed my birth control and my kids. Chris asked me to go the doctor and have a full battery of tests. I think he suspected iron deficiency or at worst, some kind of cancer.

The tipping point came when my parents were here. All along, I had mostly felt dizzyingly exhausted and thought that all I really needed was a a break, a rest.

So every morning, my parents got up with the kids and I slept. But it didn't make a difference. One night I slept for 12 hours and then four hours later, fell asleep putting Mela down for her nap.

That's not right.

In conversation one day, I clued in. I was telling friends about my old milk sensitivity and in describing how it worked, I thought, "Huh. Depressed immune system. Chronic fatigue. Sinus issues. Sore throat. Wait a minute ..."

My mom, who has the same milk sensitivity and went through the same thing herself when she was my age, was subtle but persistent. Try cutting it out. Don't touch it. See the poison symbol every time you look at a delicious grilled cheese sandwich or fruit smoothie. Give it some time. See how you feel.

I was resistant. I grew up with this restriction and am still grateful every time I drink an ice cold glass of milk or eat a bowl of cereal. I couldn't give it up, not after all these years of being free.

But the sickness was not to be argued with. It was either that or take to my bed permanently (and lose custody of my children and get a divorce).

So I stopped. I turned my head while dishing out yogurt for the kids. I found a substitute for cream in my coffee. I bought the dreaded soy and rice milks.

And lo ...

Yesterday I woke up and did not feel miserable. Last night, I had a strange, bubbly feeling in my chest that I finally realized was happiness. Today I smiled at the librarian and sang along with the radio in the car. I clean the house and read books to my kids.

And it turns out that I don't actually hate my new town. Looking at the bridge in the rainy fog today, I almost felt something like ... affection.

It's not a complete transformation ... I still get short-tempered with the kids, partly because I've clued in that it's time they had a bit more discipline. And I'll never like cooking or housework.

But at least now it looks like we have a cause. A definite source of the problem. Something to work with.

And that's something to be happy about.