If you've kept up with this blog in the past month then you've surely noticed several references to Sarah's "tummy troubles." Let's just put it out there. She had diarrhea. Nasty, stinky, messy, 6 times a day, I-know-what-you-ate-3o-minutes-ago diarrhea. For 2 and a half weeks. There you go. I said it. There's no going back.
Did I mention how long our drive out to Calgary was? Did I mention that we finally crawled into bed at 3:30am and that Sarah was sleeping in her travel bed in our room? And that at 3:40am the sound of thunder jolted us both awake from a fast, deep slumber? No. That was Sarah's bum.
Something wasn't right. Two days into our trip we took her to the Emergency room and the doctor there puzzled the pieces together way after we (and several other doctors at home) should have recognized what was going on: Sarah is allergic to milk. Duh. Her symptoms were completely different than Liam's, but it finally makes sense why she hasn't gained any weight in 6 months...or as long as she has been drinking milk.
So our pudgy little mouse, who is no longer so pudgy, is off her precious cheese. And the other thing she is off of? The bottle. A beloved comfort one day was filled with rice milk and rejected with a pitiful shake of the head the next.
And so, the top dishwasher rack is freed up for glassware and spatulas. No more bottles and no more basket to contain all the rings and oh, I so don't want to put the word nipples on this blog, but there you have it. If you opened my dishwasher you would know that a coffee drinker lives here. As does someone who takes his beverages in a disproportionately large Coke glass. And kids who sip and spill from colourful plastic Ikea cups. But no babies. I'm not sure whether to sniff or double fist pump. Probably both.
The bottom line (ha ha): Dairy free living is doing a world of good for Sarah. I've streamlined my shopping cart to just 3 types of milk. And even after what I saw, I still think she's the sweetest little girl there ever was.
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