OK, now that I’ve written a post about the baby, let’s attack the other part of that title: food. Ugh.
So. Last night, we took Jack to his preschool orientation. It was sort of a disaster. We like the place, love the teachers. But Jack clung to his father and cried pretty much the whole time. I’d love to say that I was a sympathetic mother and concerned for him, but frankly, I was just embarrassed. All of the other kids were on the floor, playing together–including the little girl who had come in bawling. Jesus Christ. We tried a bottle of milk, distracting him, etc. Both of his new teachers tried endlessly to engage and comfort him. Nothing worked. Finally, we just left early.
Both teachers, as well as the preschool director, were reassuring and sort of scrambling to encourage us to bring Jack back. I had no intention of not bringing him back. If anything, the experience confirmed for me that he needs to learn to socialize with his peers. I just felt ashamed by his behavior. I wanted him to be more likeable, more… normal. Even though from the day he was born, I knew he wasn’t normal. Not that he has anything wrong with him. He’s just an unusual little guy. He’s dreamy and sweet and spacey, like a good Pisces boy. He takes for. Ever. to eat any meal and would rather sing and play with his toys. He had no interest in the Disney characters and toys they offered in that preschool classroom. I could also tell that the racket of eight other kids and their parents and nervous teachers was jangling him. It jangled me.
On the way home from that fiasco, we called Indochine and ordered takeout. I ate not only my chicken pad thai, but also two huge shrimp summer rolls, a hefty serving of coconut ice cream, and about half a pound of cake. Sugar coma, anyone?
It’s an old pattern for me, eating my feelings. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than actually feeling them. But in the end, where does it get me? The sugar overload actually got my endometriosis all excited, so I ended up not sleeping well, when I *desperately* needed sleep and rest. So if the work I’ve been doing at the gym doesn’t get me to eat more mindfully, my uterus will. And it turns out that feeling my feelings may actually end up being more comfortable than tossing and turning and taking extra ibuprofen at four a.m.
It turns out, after some online research, that sugar is a bad idea with endometriosis. Estrogen loves sugar. And estrogen is what increases my belly pain. Sugar’s also inflammatory and causes swelling. I know that I will be happier to eat nuts, beans, whole grain pasta, and veggies. I know that in the long run, I will be happier to let my emotions run their course, instead of numbing out. I already know this stuff. But apparently, I need a lot of reminders. As my old healing teacher used to say, “We are in the lineage of people who fall down and get back up again.”
So now I’m getting up. I’ll make fish or chicken for dinner. And next week, I’ll take Jack in for his first day of preschool. It may involve a lot of crying, for Jack and Mom. But we’re allowed to be scared, both of us. I need to teach both Jack and myself that lesson. Feelings are friends, not food. They may not always be gentle friends or nice friends, but in the end, they always help me. And that is something I can swallow.