People are always talking about how great it is to spend time together as a couple. Go out to dinner, go on a hike, go out for coffee. That’s great for your average gauche couple, Jamie and I have discovered a more refined way to grow our marriage. We’ve decided to do the Whole 30 diet together. Why go out for dinner when you can prepare large amounts of meat and vegetables in the comfort of your own home while your kids eat noodles in front of you? (We like a challenge. See: six kids in eight years, law school with small children, cancer twice, moving twice and having a baby twice in less than eighteen months)
Not including the incredible withdrawal symptoms, I feel good. It’s hard to quantify at this point, but I’m going to trust that in twenty-six days I will be composing Shakesperian sonnets and running 26.0 miles in my sleep. (Can’t commit to a full marathon. Yet! Talk to me on day 30)
I’ll also confess that this little graphic has done a pretty good job of summarizing my experience thus far:
However, last night Jamie was way too with-it, lucid and peppy for me to be feeling much solidarity with him. His general well-being meant that he was able to grocery shop with half the children and I was able to collapse in bed at 6:30, but I’m feeling like he should be hurting more. Maybe our windows of sufferings wont be aligned? Maybe his suffering will follow mine so I can pick up the slack much the way I have to when he’s having a “man cold”.