Yes, that was one of the worst puns ever used on this blog, but the truth of the statement remains: the women in my family have been plagued by irritable bowel syndrome, spastic colons, and the wicked twisties for generations. So today, when my daughter had to have us pull over at the nearest McDonald's because she couldn't wait the 12 minutes it would have taken us to get home, I understood. I've been there. Many, many times. As she emerged from McDonald's restroom pale, shaky, with chills, and embarrassed I told her that she was merely a product of her genetic heritage. I told her that it just as easily could have been me 30 years ago, begging my parents to pull over, terrified that I wouldn't make it, and trying to explain to my mostly baffled father and my amused brothers that I really couldn't wait just 10 minutes!
I carried this little problem with me for years: taking it to camp when I was 7 and I asked the counselor if I could go to the bathroom and she told me we'd all go together after dinner. Perhaps the other campers waited but I couldn't so my adorable blue/white seersucker shorts were used poorly that day. I then stuffed those shorts into my duffel, forgot about them, and only remembered a week or so later when my mom screamed when emptying my camp duffel in the laundry room. Oh yea, mom, I had a little problem during dinner one day at camp...
I brought the problem with me to high school where I handled it by simply not eating. If I was going on a date, going to a concert, going to a party I simply did not eat. I was very, very thin in high school.
Of course the problem went with me to college where, just to make things interesting, for 3 years I had about an hour commute each way to school. I was also very thin in college.
And the problem followed me into the workplace where it attacked one day after a work luncheon when I was carpooling with 3 co-workers and we had a 40 minute drive back to the office. I had broken my own rule to never eat and I was paying for it. That little incident found me huddled under an overpass in the middle of December while truckers honked and my co-workers (believing I was throwing up) took bets on whether or not I was pregnant. I never carpooled to lunch again.
I learned.
I was 32 years old before I realized I was allergic to dairy and my life completely changed. My hay fever decreased, my skin cleared up and my intestines breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time ever I was able to carpool without fear, eat without wondering if I was going to pay for it later, and not cringe upon hearing my husband shout "Road trip!" I noticed the signs early in my daughter and have been pretty successful in keeping her diet pristine, but she's getting older now, making some of her own food choices, and today that free cup of cookie dough ice cream just looked a little too tempting for her to pass it up.
She learned.
1 comment:
Speaking as someone who also has the Wicked Twister disease, or the TJ Maxx Disease (as it always hits me when I enter a TJ maxx and want to browse) I feel your pain- oh How I feel your pain...And K's too!
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