I'll tell you what's happening.
Several weeks ago I got the OK from the doc on eating gluten. I told him I felt much better when there was none in my diet. He said, whatever, but you're fine.
So, because foods with gluten are soft and dreamy and comforting, I gradually got back into bread, noodles, the wrong kind of soy sauce, pizza.
I thought I was getting away with something, because I suffered no ill effects.
Until this week.
I'll spare you the details (although you might think it's funny that my gut sounds like there's a freight train running through it; it feels like it, too).
I got this great d'oh moment yesterday, reading Shauna's ode to Gluten-Free Awareness Month, in which she generously includes people who aren't diagnosed with celiac disease — maybe just gluten-intolerance.
Double d'oh, because I'd already read her post a week or so earlier, and still blithely went ahead poisoning myself with toast and gravy and hot and sour soup. Because the doctor said I could!
I'm waiting for the knots to unkink in my belly. And then I'm having some white beans and kale for lunch.