I can still taste that pretzel—its crunchy, salty perfection—promising myself it would be just one. But minutes later, the bag was empty. What had happened to my willpower?
Just weeks had passed since my fourteen-year-old daughter, Mia, was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, an autoimmune condition that wreaks havoc on her digestive system with even the tiniest morsel of wheat, rye, or barley. After a long journey of undiagnosed illness, we finally had clarity. The solution? A gluten-free diet. We felt a wave of relief wash over us.
When her doctor recommended that the entire household go gluten-free to avoid cross-contamination, we didn’t hesitate. Supporting Mia was our priority, and we were fully on board.
I thought adjusting to a gluten-free lifestyle would be easy. After all, parents often make sacrifices for their children. I had survived three pregnancies without my beloved sushi, coffee, or wine (at least, most of the time). My husband was on board, eager to try a gluten-free diet, hoping it might help him feel more energetic. Mia’s younger sisters were just as supportive, especially when they realized they could still enjoy favorites like steak, baked potatoes, nachos, and ice cream.
For the first few weeks, we dined like royalty. My husband, an adept cook, whipped up naturally gluten-free meals such as enchiladas, barbecued ribs, and stir-fries with rice. Then he ventured into the realm of gluten-free pastas and flours, and to our surprise, they often tasted pretty good. “Wow, this is almost like the real thing,” we would exclaim, genuinely impressed.
I remained diligent about my gluten-free commitment, even outside the home or at work. After all, Mia had to adhere to this diet wherever she went, and I was determined to be supportive.
But then, an unrelenting hunger set in. No matter how much gluten-free food I consumed, it never felt satisfying. At night, as I lay in bed, my stomach ached with a craving for something warm and doughy. Maybe… BREAD?
Eating gluten-free alternatives felt like a bizarre experience. They looked normal and tasted decent at first, but by the fourth bite, they often became too sweet, too powdery, or just plain odd, making me reluctant to finish a larger portion. And honestly, with gluten-free pasta or cookies costing six bucks a bag, who could afford to eat enough to feel full?
While my family and I claimed that the gluten-free options were “good,” deep down, we knew they weren’t really satisfying. It was more about our ravenous hunger than anything else. They were only “good” in the way that a person stranded on a deserted island for months might find rescue food delectable.
I kept my discontent about the gluten-free plan to myself until I noticed my nine-year-old, Lily, accepting peculiar invitations. “You want to go to Jimmy’s T-ball game?” I asked.
“Abby said we’d get pizza after. I’m sorry, Mom, but I need some gluten. Like, now,” she confessed.
Then I realized my seventeen-year-old, Zoe, had missed five dinners in a row. “Why are all your study groups during dinner?” I asked. “You’re not going around searching for gluten, are you?”
“No, of course not,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast. “Well, actually… yes. That gluten-free food is like eating air. I’m just so hungry all the time!”
Clearly, my daughters and I had something in common—we were all bread lovers at heart.
Then at work, I finally broke down and devoured those heavenly pretzels. Honestly, I wouldn’t have done it if there had been gluten-free options. As I relished each bite, I wished I could enjoy them with a hearty stout. Pretzels had become my gluten gateway drug.
But that moment of joy quickly spiraled into guilt. What kind of mother was I for indulging in wheat when my daughter was struggling? Was I just a gluten-addict?
As I debated whether to confess my cheat to Mia while waiting for our order at a local burger place, she asked why I didn’t just order a regular burger.
“Because we’re gluten-free now, and I want to be supportive,” I replied.
“It doesn’t bother me when others eat gluten in front of me. In fact, it’s annoying when they skip it because of me,” she assured me.
“Are you sure? You won’t write in your memoirs about how terrible I am later?” I teased.
“No, I’m not you.”
Ouch.
So, I ordered my burger, bun and all. And let me tell you, it was the best thing I’d tasted in ages. As I finished, I looked at Mia with admiration. She was handling this whole gluten-free transition with incredible grace, especially given her age. Here she was, encouraging me to enjoy my meal.
Maybe I wasn’t such a bad mother after all—or maybe that was just the gluten talking.
For more insights on this journey, check out another one of our blog posts here. If you’re exploring at-home insemination options, visit Make A Mom for reputable syringe kits. And for comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination, the CDC offers excellent resources.
In summary, going gluten-free can be a challenging and sometimes humorous journey, especially when cravings for our beloved foods re-emerge. While we strive to support our loved ones, we must also navigate our own desires and appetites. In the end, it’s a learning experience for the whole family, filled with moments of indulgence, guilt, and ultimately, understanding.
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