Whole 30, The Reintro, Or Pain in the Dairy-Air

It only took me a few days of Whole30 adherence to hypothesize that dairy was likely a problem for me. I wasn’t blowing my nose constantly. The rosiness in my cheeks faded considerably. I felt happier and more confident in all things.

Removing dairy generated clarity – by way of much clearer sinuses, much clearer skin, and a much clearer mind.

So, with all of my dairy suspicions pretty well confirmed, what did I do on Superbowl Sunday?

I guess I wanted to be absolutely sure.

I ate a pile of it.

Buttermilky Ranch Doritos, my best friend, and my longtime nemesis.

Savory homemade ven-sausage dotted with chunks of mozzarella.

Stinky bleu-cheese stuffed olives.

Probably an entire creamy cup of Taco Fiesta Top the Tater.

And I’m still suffering the consequences.

The aching down below started to affect me in the second quarter, with a houseful of people around. I suggested Mini and I go into the bedroom to watch the Puppy Bowl during halftime.

“You guys will be back, right?” asked Mr. Man.

I nodded. But, save for Mini running back out to fetch a brownie for each hand, we never made it back.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.

“I’ll help you feel better, Mom,” said Mini, stroking my hair sweetly.

Suffice it to say it was a miserable evening, and I wasn’t feeling particularly great by the time morning rolled around, either.

Beyond my stomach, my skin looked awful – pale and chalky. I decided to don my glasses to the office as a means of distraction.

Farewell, friend.

My reflection sealed it. I’m done with dairy.

While the enjoyment of a thick, rich Oreo Blizzard may be worth trading an unhappy stomach and a few hours scrolling social feeds on the toilet, it sure ain’t worth my looks.

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