When Jake was a baby, he was so rarely sick. Now that we have three littles, it feels like someone always has something: a runny nose, a rash, a cut we're making sure doesn't get infected. Weirdly, this malady-train has taught me about living in the moment. I want my kids to be well. I try to keep them healthy, but ultimately I can't control whether or not they get sick, so I have to let go. I also can't wait for the moment when everyone is simultaneously OK to finally relax because that moment may never come. I have to learn how to hold a beautiful Sunday evening in one hand and a feverish toddler in the other.
That said. All the little sickies have got me thinking about some kind of detox.
I'll (roughly) follow Mark Hyman's 10 Day Detox which is a lot like the Whole 30, but only ten days and with lots of specifically detoxing foods. Hyman is the president of the Institute of Functional Medicine. I listened to a lecture of his about biological food addiction, and then I got his book from the library, and now I'm worried that I'm a little too dependent on high glycemic foods. His detox involves daily exercise and a powerhouse of a smoothie in the mornings and a lot of journaling and reflection and Epsom salt baths in the evening. It also discourages screens before bed. So it would have me commit to ten days of new routines that I might want to implement.
People swear by by low-glycemic protocols, and I want to see how mine does on one. I'm starting to have those lovely complaints like brain fog and dry eyes and puffiness and junk in my throat in the mornings. I'm starting to feel older. And instead I want to feel me some optimum wellness.
I tend to turn my nose up at detoxes probably because I'm pretty bad at doing them. I'm really good at eating mostly healthfully: lots of veggies and salads and intentional this and that, but I'm terrible if I have to give up my coffee/cookie mornings and wine/chocolate evenings. Terrible. I can forgo the occasional kettle-cooked potato chip binge, ice cream, yogurt covered pretzels, strong margaritas, and big hamburgers, but if I mess with my coffee or my wine or their attendants, we're talking toddler levels of brain integration and mood management. Once I wrap my brain around that hurdle I'll be on my way.
So that's what I've been thinking about. Since yesterday anyway. I'm writing it here because - as Gretchen Rubin has convinced me - I'm one of those unfortunate people who needs external obligations to get stuff done. And since Jacob has zero desire to ever ever do anything like this with me, you, little blog, get the job.
No commitments yet, though. Still just planning. [And Jacob's somewhere laughing.]
