Somehow I fooled myself into thinking that coconut milk is an acceptable addition to coffee.

It’s not.

I apologize, friends to whom I’ve sworn up and down that coconut milk is pretty much the same as cream. I apologize most abjectly.

It’s been quite some time since my last super-strict elimination diet – probably upwards of a year? Closer to two, maybe? In these protocols, dairy of any kind is typically anathema. The goal is to identify sensitivities, and even a tiny bit of off-plan food can ruin your chance of achieving that goal. After all, how will you know if adding dairy back into your diet causes problems if you’ve been consuming it all along?

So I’m assuming that is why I fooled myself into thinking that coconut milk can be mixed into coffee with anything less than catastrophic results.

Yesterday I purchased, off the shelf, an unsweetened creamer, a mix of coconut and almond milk sans carageenan (a thickening additive banned by the Whole30, although the Slow Carb Diet seems agnostic on its presence). To its credit, it did not glom together and curdle the way that canned coconut milk does. To my everlasting shame, I have recommended canned coconut milk to many friends. (Even worse, with canned coconut milk, you can see the oils and curdles floating on the surface of your hot drink. It’s truly an abomination.)

But even this creamer, created for the sole purpose of adding to a beverage, straight-up wrecked my coffee. I was forced to drink this bizarre and distasteful concoction in order to get my caffeine this morning.

I’m sleeping in three hour stretches, people. This is not tolerable on any level without heavy morning doses of caffeine.

Now, the Slow Carb Diet has no problem with caffeine, and even half-and-half in your coffee is accepted as long as it’s no more than two tablespoons. But I’m an overachiever, apparently, and I’m regretting it now as I chug a fresh mug of coffee to wash the wretched taste of – well, what I would imagine most closely resembles the flavor of moisturizer – out of my mouth.

One last time, I offer my apologies. Let us never speak of this again.



Well, I keep trying to write a blog post and failing. I guess for the same reason that I keep trying to go take a walk and failing – today, only my arms or the swing will do for the baby. No baby wrap, no stroller, no car seat, no bouncer or bassinet – not without screams, anyway. Some days are easier than others.

But while the swing is still acceptable, let me get this out. Continue reading

Aaaand we’re back.

Six weeks later…

For real, though. Having a baby is no joke, guys. I am now halfway through maternity leave and through the portion I consider “baby boot camp.” This has been the thick of the newborn stage – lots of crying (primarily, but not exclusively, by the baby), hormone swings, breastfeeding pain, two-hour stretches of sleep, and toddler adjustments (whining, sleep regressions, etc). In short, I did not have the wherewithal for writing. I didn’t remember it from last time – hell, I barely remember it this time. The past 6 weeks have been a total blur.

We made it, though, and both of us are healthy, and I’m officially able to exercise. I’m still not sleeping longer than two and a half or three hours at a time, so I will need to keep the exercise moderate until I can either start outsourcing night feedings more consistently or the baby decides to skip one of his wake-ups. Until then, my primary focus is on diet, with a secondary goal of reestablishing a base level of strength and aerobic fitness. No CrossFit style workouts until I’m getting a consistent minimum of 6-7 hours of sleep, in other words.

Will it be next week? Next month? Next winter? It’s an adventure we’re going to take together, people. At least, I’m going to take you with me. While you’re hopefully taking advantage of not having a newborn to interrupt your sleep every couple of hours. Except those of you who also have newborns. I see you, sisters.

Anyway, next post I’ll establish my baseline. I’m not thrilled about the numbers, because they mean I have a minimum of thirty pounds to lose. Ugh. But I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again, dammit. Here we go.