My body has turned on me. Full out assault. It's sad, really. I thought we were such good friends. But, no.
I turned 42 and the bottom dropped out, so to speak. Not only was there the whole age spot debacle, but now I'm pretty sure that I am lactose intolerant. The whole saying, "Don't cry over spilled milk", is just a big, fat honkin' lie! The more I can't have it...the more I want it. Who knew that "moo juice", or lack there of, would have such an impact on me?
Of course, I am not a real fan of being doubled over in pain either, wracked with cramps so horrendous, feeling the contractions, reminding me what it was like to give birth---at any minute. Or not. Stupid intestinal distress that comes as a not so pleasant side effect of lactose intolerance... going and reminding me of child birth and all. And I don't even get a cute little baby out of it. All pain and no gain. Sheesh. What a rip off.
The other night I baked home made chocolate chip cookies, 'cause that is just the kind of baking mama that I am. Just for my family....well, and I had a craving for some too....but, I baked for MY FAMILY! Anyway, I was sitting on the couch with my daughter, munching on cookies, watching a good TV show....when she got up. AND WENT TO THE FRIDGE AND GOT A GLASS OF MILK TO EAT WITH HER WARM COOKIES! Then to make matters worse she came and sat back down (WITH THE MILK) next to me. I told her not to breathe my way because I didn't want to smell her milk breath. She apologized as she slurped it down. She looked like she was enjoying it. I cried on the inside, as I ate my cookies sans milk.
It's a lonely life without my moo juice. We had such a good life together--before it turned on me. Now, all I have left from out relationship are faint and distant memories of dunking cookies, breakfast cereal, and the occasional double chocolate milkshake. All gone now. I don't know if I'm going to make it. The milk jug mocks me each morning as I open the refrigerator door. Taunting me with it's farm fresh goodness. I slam the door shut.