The doctor called this morning with good news. “Your son doesn’t have celiac.” I was trying to hustle both children out the door, and David was tugging at my pant leg and shouting about a ball.

I said, “I don’t believe it.” I explained about the ongoing poop problem and how we had only waited 10 days. David started rattling the gate. She said it was common knowledge that you had to wait a month, so the test was meaningless. I wish I had consulted her since all the experts I did consult didn’t seem to know that common knowledge. She did say I had done the right thing by quitting. Who needs a month of unhappy baby? I snapped at the kids several times as we hauled everything into the car.

Actually, this upset me much more than I expected it to. I don’t like knowing but not knowing definitively. Most of me doesn’t mind another kid with celiac; John just has to bake bread more often. But I’m still a bit sad.