It has been ten months since I had any dairy products.
Dairy products. This makes it sound so clinical, so dry. When in reality, the absence of these things are the dryness.
When I open a menu, drive past our local restaurant row, navigate my way through the frozen goods section of Trader Joes, I tell myself no.
No to the Ben and Jerry's. No to the pizza, the lasagna, the rissoto with the earthy mushrooms. No to the shrimp and cream sauce, the enchiladas, the sour cream. No to the buttermilk pancakes, the lingonberry scones, the blueberry muffins. No to the brie with crackers, the hot chocolate, the grilled cheese sandwich, the cold glass of milk right before bedtime. No to the slightly sour frozen yogurt from the stand right down the street.
I'm milk-free for now. While nursing my oldest, milk for me also meant no sleep for me, and a cranky, sick baby. Which eased my lust for the creamy richness of melted cheese. Apparently, every appetite has its price--and this one I wasn't willing to pay. So when my youngest was six months in utero, I gave up the dairy cold-turkey. And am waiting for the day to try it again.
She's seven months old now, and her sleep is more predictable. Nearly predictable enough to try a grand experiment. One day, somewhat soon, I will head to the grocery store. I will say yes. Yes to the ice cream (chocolate chip cookie dough) and the havarti. Yes to the milk, the pizza joint, the baked goods. Yes to my appetites.
We'll see what kind of consequences this particular lust will bring.