I might stand at the counter
pen in hand,
eyes staring at a spot on the counter.
Every item of food on earth passes through my brain as I search, search, search
for something that’s not there.
an idea for a dinner,
another gluten-free, dairy-free meal.
Something good, something easy, something everyone will eat…
no, no it doesn’t exist. Not in plenty.
I have alerady written the three meals down that work for the family
and the rest of the week? The other 7 lunches and 4 dinners?
But I already know, I know there’s nothing left to write except what I always write. Two lunches, two dinners… extra shopping, planning, cooking.
So much work.
I hate it but I do it because I have no choice, there is no getting out of this task of being the mom to gluten/dairy allergy boy.
And then I walk into the kitchen the next day
after weeks of this planning, and preparing, shopping and cooking…
and in five seconds and with a handful of lucky charms every second of all of that work and effort is thrown away by a boy who climbed the pantry shelves
in search of a snack
seconds after a giant lunch.
The knowledge that all of my time/energy spent now so quickly wasted fills me as does the knowledge that in days I will have so much diarrhea to deal with and the rashes…
the screaming and flailing and desitin and hand washing
and it consumes me so much in that second
that my entire body feels like falling to the floor in utter sadness and self pity.