Gluten for punishment: We’re now that family

The doctor wants my teenage son to go gluten-free for a few months as she tries to figure out his stomach ailment. So now we’re going to be that family. We’re going to move through the grocery store at a snail’s pace, reading every single label and googling it on our phones, just to be sure. (Did you know maltodextrin does not contain malt?) We’ll insist spaghetti squash tastes just as good as pasta.

At restaurants, it’s going to take us 10 minutes to order.

We’re going to ask the waiter a barrage of questions about whether there is soy sauce in the marinade, bread crumbs in the meatballs, or if the french fries are cooked in the same oil as the onion rings.

There won’t be any beer in our refrigerator, and we’ll pretend we’re fine with that.

We’re going to ruin pizza night. I’m sorry; I’m being snide. We’re new to this. I say “we” because if one person in a household is on a restricted diet, it is easier if everyone else does the same.

When my son was 13 and his doctor put him on a 3,000-calorie-a-day diet in the hopes he would gain weight, I groaned. She had no idea how fat it was going to make me.

I know there are serious health problems that force people to eliminate gluten from their diet, and some for whom it causes all sorts of gastrointestinal problems. But going gluten-free sometimes seems like a fad, the participants both suffering and smug. Maybe this won’t be us; cutting down on gluten seems to be helping my son.

Change is difficult. I’m learning it is hard to be gluten-free and low-maintenance. We’re trying.

We ask waiters what would be easiest for the kitchen to make gluten-free. We bring a gluten-free dish when invited to dinner.

We won’t freak out when our salads come with croutons.

And I’ll knock off the snide comments.