I woke up on day two of the godforsaken motherfucking juice cleanse fully expecting to feel sub-human. I'd read at least a dozen bloggers' experiences with three-day cleanses and it seemed like day two was the day you broke out, leached toxins out your liver and fingernails, sprouted gills and breathed fire...you know, stuff like that. Especially since prevailing pseudo-wisdom seems to be that the more "toxic" you are when you start, the worse you feel as your body rids itself of all the toxins and garbage and the persistent coating of congealed Velveeta in your colon.
So I was surprised to realize that I felt totally fine. I didn't even feel hungry. Maybe it wasn't working? Maybe it was all a load of horseshit, perhaps? (IMAGINE THAT!)
Either way, I was determined to go on, if only to have something to blog about. FOR THE BLOG! TO THE JUICE!
Day two started out much, much easier. It helped that I had that dermatologist appointment to suck up most of the morning and keep my mind off the clock-watching and idle-snack-obsessing. (Getting your Rare Congenital Ear Lump photographed by the Inventor of Accutane does make for a pretty amusing morning.) I didn't miss coffee, didn't feel headache-y or lightheaded or anything like that. I also did not experience any of the — ahem — gastrointestinal side effects many people describe. (Sure was peeing a lot, though, lawdy.) And the juices all tasted bizarrely, insanely delicious. I AM JUICE CLEANSE MASTER, SAVE FOR THAT ONE THING WITH THE RUBBER-PIZZA-CHEESE SHHHHH.
Though once again, the late afternoon began to drag. And drag. Especially with nothing to look forward to than that blasted horrid-tasting coconut water. (You know your brain has gone 'round the crazy bend when you start thinking, DAYUM, I could sure go for some more cucumber-and-kale juice instead of coconut water, yo.)
And despite my plan to drink the "dinner" juice earlier, I got distracted with the kids and kind of forgot, and by the time I realized it I had fully morphed into a Grump Monster.
And I'm not kidding. You guys, I was AWFUL. Everything set me off. EVERYTHING. I snapped. I scolded. I yelled.
(In my defense, my kids were behaving a little extra turd-y and screechily fighting over EVERYTHING, but instead of like, coming up with a suitable distracting activity or sending them outside, I simply tried to referee uselessly from the couch, and then blamed THEM for my uselessness.)
The worst moment came when I realized Ezra had abandoned a nearly-full milk box behind the couch in the living room, which Ike had found and upended, causing a GIANT FLOOD of milk all over the floor (and himself). And I lost it. Lost my temper, my cool, my entire grip on reality and perspective.
I know a lot of mothers have had that moment when you realize you need to excuse yourself and spend a few moments staring at your horrible, angry, snarled-up face in the bathroom mirror, counting to 10 or 100 or 1000. But let me tell you, it adds a whole new level of shame and guilt when you're locked in there with a $9 spinach/kale/romaine/celery juice-thing, knowing that you just lost your shit at a three-and-a-half-year-old because you're purposely depriving yourself for nebulous, questionable reasons.
I eventually emerged from the bathroom and tearfully apologized to both Ezra and Noah. They both seemed to already be Over It and unfazed (such is the impotence of my fury, I suppose), but I'm still not, even two days later. Boys — and especially Ezra — if you ever get bored enough to go back and read this crap: I am so, so sorry. There was no excuse for me to yell at you like that. I hope you forgive me, because I was a total asshole.
And once again, the instant I drank the "dinner" juice (or whatever you want to call it), my world and mood were righted, and I felt fine. FINE. I was a Juice Cleanse Werewolf, who needed to be locked away in solitude between the hours of 3 and 5 pm, at which point I could emerge and not be completely batshit insane.
After we put the kids to bed I curled up on the couch with the almond milk and watched — what else? — The Hunger Games.
Next: Day three. And yes, there was a day three, and it was real and it was SPECTACULAR. (Also kind of anti-climactic.)