Spider like cookies.

See that? That delicious looking brownie right there? That stunning piece of artwork that you would most likely put into your mouth without thinking twice about? That, right there, represents everything that I absolutely, without a doubt, CANNOT have.

Yesterday when I got finished with my morning at work, I joined my husband and almost-two-year-old daughter, at a place called the "Soul Fire Cafe", a free coffee shack (yes, you heard me, free. Iced mocha's, frappachino's, whatever you want...) on base with a super hip interior, and Bible trivia board games donated by only the most amazing of donors, for all to play. Christopher was doing a 2 hour volunteer shift, and I figured it would be nice to get out of the house and check the place out, even though I knew I'd probably just be entertaining Eleanore the entire time. The first thing I noticed, when I walked into the room, was the plate of colorful cookies positioned in the center of the counter. And not because my free-cookie-dar was sounding an alarm in sync with a pretty red blinking light, but because to me, that plate of cookies could quite possibly be the death of me. I leaned on the counter right next to the plate, keeping one eye on the cookies at all time, as if they were going to sprout legs and jump on me, and the other eye on my husband, who looked completely lost behind the counter while being taught how to make something or other with steamed milk. Eventually, my fear of the cookies settled down, kind of like when you first notice a spider in the bathroom, but then realize he hasn't moved from his corner in the last day, and hes probably not going to. For all you know, hes dead! ...Maybe the cookies were dead too, right? After about half an hour of being there, I start feeling exhausted. So exhausted, that I could no longer participate in conversation with anyone or anything, and decide to go sit in a big red fluffy chair in the corner by myself. My daughter of course follows me, and for the next hour, we make up silly words for tiny glass bead-like things, that at some point probably went to an unknown board game. She hands them to me, I hand them to her, we arrange them on a table, its all great fun. I blame my extreme exhaustion on my pregnancy, and do anything I can to stay awake until the clock strikes 5:00. Finally I can't take it anymore, and I tell my husband we have to leave 20 minutes early. We get home, and instead of making it up the stairs to my bed, I sit at the computer like a zombie, having ridiculous conversations on yahoo messenger with my cousin Tiffany, and saying "I want that" to 1 out of 30 things on Motherhood.com. Finally even that gets to be too much work, so I relocate upstairs to the bedroom. Every step feels like I'm stepping in quick sand, but eventually my feet crest on the top floor, and I crash down onto the bed like Free Willy did into the water in that one scene where he jumps over the kid who's holding his fist up in the air, do you know what I'm talking about? Sorry, my husband just turned the stereo on and totally distracted me, that sentence could have been much better, I know. Anyways, so as I'm lying in bed, my stomach starts hurting. I figure "well, I took my prenatal not too long ago, maybe there just wasn't enough food in my tummy". As the minutes go by, I notice myself feeling sicker and sicker. Soon I'm so sick that I swear I'm about to die, and verbally communicate my last will and testament to my husband, who's doing everything in his power to make me more comfortable. I start telling him how I think I got wheat poisoning, and he says something like "I don't see how, you're probably just really tired". I'm too tired to argue. He turns the TV on to distract me, which works. A few minutes into SNL, I toss over onto my side, and pass out before I can even get into my comfy sleepy position. I sleep all through the night, having awful nightmares, not even waking up to pee (which for a pregnant lady, is completely unheard of). By the time I wake up, my stomach feels deflated and starving, while my head feels less cloudy and I can take a breath without thinking its my last. ...I've survived the night! As I slowly wake up I realize I'm not completely in the clear yet, but in a few short hours, the wheat that must have entered my chap lips though microscopic crumb form, will be gone for good. I guess the cookie wasn't dead, was it?

I haven't been into a cafe environment since last August when we took a visit to Portland. I realized how much damage I had done to my body on the very unpleasant flight(s) back home, and vowed never to step foot into another restaurant if I didn't have to. It took me weeks to recover from that trip, which sadly isn't an exageration. I know what you're thinking. "Is it really that bad?". If it wasn't, I sure would have made at least one trip to a restaurant in the past 11 months. I told Christopher that all I wanted for my birthday was to go out. He called a place in town, and asked them if they could assure that they wouldn't cross contaminate a dish for me, and of course, they said no. If it wasn't just gluten, it probably wouldn't be nearly as difficult. But because the birth of my beautiful daughter brought along intolerance's to soy/ dairy/ eggs/ oats/ amaranth/ fructose/ corn/ potato/ caffeine/ fats/ sorbitol/ carageenan/ ect... I've decided it would just be best for me to wear a surgical mask any time I leave the house. And probably be much more careful next time I step inside the Soul Fire.

From top to bottom:

-"4 Wild Mountain Huckleberry Cream Cheese Brownies", by bluejss2002, $12.00

-"SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW Gourmet Cookies", by busybaker, $11.99.

-"Vanilla Swirl Gourmet Coffee", by pmsmith55, $2.50.

-"White Chocolate Raspberry Sundae CupCheesecake", by DelicatbleDelights, $10.00.

-"GLUTEN INTOLERANT retro tattoo style brooch", by lizardgirl, $20.00. (somebody please buy this for me!)