About 2 weeks ago, I decided to stop eating dairy. I mean, I decided to TRY to stop eating dairy. I knew it would be difficult, but I thought it might be a little fun. Maybe force me to get more creative with my meal choices. The latter has turned out to be true, but not the former. It’s not that fun and it’s really hard. Especially when Sunday rolls around.
Why would I attempt such a feat?
1. I’ve questioned human consumption of dairy from a health standpoint for a while now. Intuitively, it doesn’t seem right. Human milk is for baby humans and cow’s milk is for baby cows. Maybe humans started drinking cow’s milk because it flows fairly abundantly from a lactating cow, and maybe we were hungry. But I’m personally not going hungry anytime soon, and I have plenty of other options for protein, fat, and calcium.
2. Gas, and not the kind you put in your car. My breastfed baby can sometimes be a little gassy and I feel it is my duty as her mother to make sure that my diet is not causing her any pain. The immature digestive system of babies is often irritated by the protein in cow’s milk. I still haven’t been able to fully deduce whether or not this is the case, but it’s not looking good for dairy’s side of the argument.
3. Ericka over at alabaster cow says that once she quit dairy, her cellulite disappeared (read about it here). C’mon people, that’s amazing. Even Gisele has cellulite. Well ok, probably not. But let’s pretend. Maybe since it worked for Ericka, it will work for me. After all we both have a baby daughter, we both blog, and we both graduated high school virgins. Which means that we earned our white wedding dresses. Never mind that I was pregnant when I got married.
So…I will admit that I have cheated on this whole “no dairy” thing. Like last Sunday when I went to the French creperie, knowing very well that the French language probably doesn’t even have a word for “vegan.” I dutifully ordered a ratatouille crepe, which was the only savory crepe sans cheese. But I could taste the butter, eggs and milk hiding in the crepe batter. Plus, I grew up helping my mom make crepes in our kitchen and our own recipe calls for milk and eggs.
Why did I end up at a restaurant that I knew wouldn’t cater to my dietary restrictions? Well, the place we intended to eat at that day had a line out the door and the 3 year old was getting very impatient. But the truth is that I secretly want to be French, which you can read about here. By the way, the French woman who worked there definitely was not fat.
Then, I accidentally ate garlic bread and lemon meringue pie at Easter dinner last night (like I said, Sundays) and little Giovanna had a full-on freak out around midnight last night, spitting up and *tooting* more than usual. The fussiness has also carried over to today. (Milk proteins take some time to get out of your system.) Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not.
I am going to try another week or two with out the cow’s stuff to see if I notice a change in Giovanna. Or in my booty. Either way, I am not nearly as dedicated as Ericka, and I will continue to pray that I can start eating yogurt and cheese again soon. I think that it’s common for babies to grow out of these sensitivities as they get older. If you have any experience with a breastfed baby being sensitive to foods in your diet, I would love to hear about it.
In other news, the Easter egg hunt at my house took place at 6:30 am yesterday. Emile would not budge on this one. He looked something like this when he woke up:
I won’t show you what I looked like because it was not quite so cute.
But it’s ok because my mom, dad, sister and brother all came over for dinner and we drank Veuve Clicquot Rosé Champagne. I almost considered giving the baby pumped milk from my emergency freezer stash so that I could drink more than a few sips. Almost. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t bare to subject her to the bottle that she hates so much. Maybe when she gets a little older…and I get a little more desperate.