Too much of the wrong kind of milk

It's the middle of the night and there is milk everywhere.  Rex doesn't mind but I don't like it at all.  His face is covered with milk and drool, and I've just discovered there is a huge blob of spit-up on my right shoulder.  It feels like a pelican just pooped on me and, worst of all, it's in my hair.  Gross.

The ironic thing is that with all this milk around, I seem to have developed an intolerance to cow's milk.  I could skip drinking milk entirely but now I'm not even eating ice cream, which has to be the greatest form of torture a lactating woman can endure.  I ate at least two quarts a week of the stuff when I was pregnant with Rex, and now it's all I dream about.  Really.  Last night I dreamed I was at the store and couldn't decide which flavor to buy.  I settled on Haagen Dazs Strawberry and ate it all right there in the store.  I only had five dollars on me so the counter lady got really pissed when I couldn't pay for it, and angry customers behind me shouted obscenities, but I digress.

Did I mention that Rex, too, gets fussy when I eat dairy?  Thanks a lot, pal.  It fed you in utero and now you've turned on it completely.  Just wait until you're older and want a chocolate ice cream cone.  Then we'll see who has the upper hand.