Category Archives: Weekly Pregnancy Countdown

27 weeks: The Pregnant Monster

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monster_roundI am starting to feel like a children’s book character of some sort of round, loveable, and slightly slobbish monster.

I snore. I waddle. I wake up in the middle of the night to eat. An odd series of marks have bloomed across my stomach, and every outfit goes in the laundry at the end of the day because I can’t sit up straight enough to eat without spilling. Normalcy seems a thousand miles and two mountains away.

It’s hard, in moments like this, to remember that pregnancy (as any difficult thing in life) does not last forever.

Night comes, and sleep runs off with the cows that jumped over all the moons in Ellie’s bedtime stories. The babies wake up and my stomach becomes host to all manner of roiling appendages. Rest becomes elusive. And in the thickest, darkest parts of the night, I start to worry. Life as it was will never return. Life as I know it is really hard. And life in the future – well, that change is anyone’s guess.

What I’m trying to remember in my cognizant, waking hours is that we wanted this change. Not because life was bad before, but because the happiness and enjoyment we found in our daughter was so unexpectedly great that we wanted our family to keep on growing. (And just because we didn’t necessarily plan for the exponential growth part of the equation doesn’t mean we were any less thrilled about it.)

But this business of change is tricky. It’s like a construction project – no one likes the tear-down, mess in the halls, plastic drop cloth phase. Or in our case, like the nursery, which remains empty and unpainted because I lack the energy, time, and creativity to do anything but stand in the middle of the room and try to imagine what it’s going to be like to have two tiny infants wailing away at one time.

I know the finished product is worth the discomfort of having life taken apart for a while. The empty gray room will grow into a place of color and laughter. My stomach will return to normal proportions and I will be able to bend over without grunting like a stuck pig. Our daughters will quickly change from infants to babies to toddlers, and two years from now I’ll be blogging about how silly it was that I made such a fuss over being a pregnant monster.

Be that as it may, 27 weeks feels like no man’s land, and waiting for change is almost worse than adjusting to it once it finally happens. So in the meantime, I’m going to eat another tub of yogurt. Take the sleep as it comes. Throw a towel over the full length mirror and put on my favorite green pants.

This too shall pass.

26 Weeks: Officially hanging up my hat

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First Board meeting on the Oregon coast

First Board meeting on the Oregon coast

I have worked at the Hazelden Foundation for the last five years. Hazelden is an amazing employer, and I am incredibly thankful for everything I’ve been able to learn and do in my tenure there. Because of my work, I have met people I never would have had the chance to meet. I have seen the ocean from both coasts. And while it may not always have been “creative” writing, I had a chance to craft and work with words at almost every turn.

This is the part where I should say that our decision for me to quit working and stay home with the girls was the hardest one I’ve ever made. But I’m not going to lie. Turning in my notice wasn’t that bad. 🙂

After I had Ellis, I spent the first half of my maternity leave learning to survive with an infant in the house. And the second half? I basically wallowed in  personal mourning for the day I’d have to figure out how to leave her. It was to no avail. After twelve weeks, I squeezed into high heels for the first time in three months and bawled the entire drive to work.

I have no interest in taking part of the stay at home vs. back to work controversy for mamas. For what felt like the longest time, I was the mom reading the magazine article about another woman’s “decision to stay home” and resisting the urge to rip the page to shreds because I didn’t have that option.

And if that’s where any of you are at today, please know that I’ve been there. I’ve hugged my friends who have gotten to stay home, and I’ve been genuinely happy for them. And I’ve also cried myself silly in the shower because no matter how bad I wanted things to change, that simply wasn’t my situation at the time.

I don’t have an easy answer here, but I do know that despite the difficulty, I was able to make a successful transition back to work after Ellis was born. It may have had something to do with three little wooden signs that line the Pat Butler Drive when you come into Hazelden. They read the words Easy Does It. Day after day I drove down that driveway, and I repeated those words. I criticized myself less, and relaxed more. I accepted the situation I was in, and I made the best of it.

This time around, things are different. Two infants and a toddler in day care are about as expensive as going on a week-long Caribbean cruise each month, and financially, we’ve had some things fall into place that loosen up the expense side of our budget. So, we’re going to give it a go.

And by give it a go, I mean I want to apply the concept of Easy Does It to my new stay-at-home life with the girls. I will not have expectations of being the perfect stay at home mom with a list of craft projects a mile long. I will not feel defeated if I make BLT’s for the third supper in a row. And I will not be upset with myself if the only thing I accomplish on any given day is making sure the girls are fed, clothed, and wearing relatively clean diapers.

Easy does it. I think I might ask Jason to make me my own set of signs to post in our driveway.

PS. I’m sorry if you come over to my house three months from now and the only thing we have in the cupboards is popcorn.

 

 

 

 

 

Week 24: Perception is 100% of Reality

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minvanFor the record, I really don’t like car shopping. Well, okay. Let me rephrase that. I did like car shopping, once, when we knew exactly what we wanted, and a really good friend who was a dealer helped us find it with zero hassle. But this time around, the specs were harder to find, and my current car sold so quickly that we found ourselves crunched. We needed something NOW.

But nothing was falling into place. We got cancelled on by a dealer when we were 10 minutes away (and had already driven an hour in rush hour to make the appointment). We had a great priced van sell out from under us 30 minutes before our scheduled appointment. We took an extra half day of Easter vacation time to test drive a promising looking ride that ended up being filthy, and piloted by a clueless college student because his uncle, who was selling the van, just couldn’t make it to our appointment.

Meanwhile, the very kind gentleman who bought my car (for his sixteen year old daughter – yes, apparently my Toyota Matrix was the perfect fit for a teenager with braces and a shiny new license) was getting restless for us to hand over the keys.

My perception of the reality of our situation was growing muddier by the day.

***

You may remember an earlier post where I worried over failing my gestational diabetes test. Yep. That was all going on this week too. And in case you’re wondering, I did have a miniature breakdown on the couch one evening. Pregnant hormones, a potential loss of pancakes, and not knowing how I was going to get to work in the next few days was simply too much.

So I stopped. Took Jason’s (right again) advice. Opened a new box of Kleenex. And had a show-down with perspective. Here’s what I saw:

  • Our car had sold just a few days after we put it on Craigslist. That part of the equation was already taken care of.
  • We had options for other cars to buy. (We just couldn’t decide on any of them.)
  • We had a perfectly functional other vehicle to drive in the meantime.

Dan Feldkamp, the awesome pastor who married us, told us over and over in our premarital counseling sessions that perception was 100% of our personal realities. In other words, it didn’t matter what was really going on – if I saw something one way, that was my reality, and if Jason saw things another way, that was his reality. What we needed to, do in tough situations, was adjust our perspective.

I remind myself of this now and then, because he was totally right (even if I secretly rolled my eyes during our sessions at hearing it so many times. Sorry Dan.) My perception of a situation changes its reality. If I allow that perception to get out of whack with a true perspective, I’m heading into dangerous territory.

***

Well ladies and gentlemen, guess what. I like my new mini-van. (new is a relative term. It’s a 2004, but it’s new to me.)

Yep. I’m going to say it again. I like my new mini-van. I like it a lot. Want to know why? Because it’s got great visibility – seriously, it feels like I’m driving a spaceship with the gigantic open windshield. It’s super easy to get in and out of – no small thing to appreciate when you’re carrying an extra 24 pounds and counting of gigantic twin baby belly. Ellis can climb in and out, and I don’t have to step on the running boards to get her in her car seat. And yes, it has automatic sliding doors. This means when I have two armfuls of car-seated infants, I can push a button and voila. The door opens I can I can pop them into place.

And in the meantime, I’ve learned an important lesson.

Perception: Minivans aren’t cool. And are apparently hard to shop for.

Perspective: I don’t care about being cool anymore. Nor do I need to let my somewhat emotional self get worked up over something that is out of my control.

For what it’s worth, Jason and I both feel like we made a good decision. Having a vehicle that accommodates our growing family is just another way we are normalizing this whole impending twin arrival situation, and it feels good. This week, we feel prepared. Kind of. Well, at least we feel like we know where we’re going to put the car seats. And this week, maybe that’s half the battle.

Week 23: Redefining the word “cool”, mini-van style

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mini-vanFor the record, I have never been particularly interested in what I drive. I think part of this stems from growing up on a farm, where the idea of form and function was just a fancy thing I read in magazine advertisements. I drove whatever had keys and enough gas, whatever could get me from point A to point B.

These days, things are still the same. I’m not crazy interested in cars. But when we made our prep-for-the-twins list and realized that the logistics of three car seats, three diaper bags, a triple stroller, and an average load of groceries were going to pack my current car to the brim, we decided it was time to buy a different vehicle.

Enter: Decision making mayhem.

What do we want? What do we need? How big should it be? Drive train? Tires? Miles? Timing belts? After looking through a slew of ads one night, I realized I didn’t have a clue. But I didn’t really want a mini-van. Why? Because….well…. um….

No one starts off wanting a mini-van. They are the official vehicle of women over thirty and grandparents over fifty. They are billed for soccer games and tennis practice. They are unmistakably family-oriented-bring-the-dog-people-hauling-machines. They aren’t cool.

There. I said it. Mini-vans aren’t cool.

And here’s where I have to eat my words. Because if I’m fair and honest, I’m not cool either. I’m 31, and am about to have three kids. I haven’t cut my hair in a year because I feel guilty about making the time and paying a sitter. My main sources of clothing these days are a collection of hand-me-downs, thrift store items, and clearance rack specials. I rinse out ziplock bags and use them twice. And I still eat graham crackers and grape nuts for breakfast. I’m pretty sure this is enough to keep me on the non-cool list for the rest of eternity.

Meanwhile, Jason wasn’t buying my lame excuse about not wanting a van. And Jason, in case you don’t know him, is the king of informed decisions. He reads. He researches. He compares. And when he buys something, (be it a sleeping bag, a turkey call, or a vehicle), he makes the best decision he can given the information he has.

I love this about my husband, because I am the opposite. If I see something I like, and can convince myself I really need it, I go for it. (Which is why I spent an entire weeklong trip in the Boundary Waters with no functioning water shoes. Hey. I thought Croc Mary Janes seemed like a good idea at the time.)

I’m also still in pregnant brain indecision mode, so I wisely decided to step back and let him make the call. And thus began our two week period of open season Toyota Sienna mini-van hunting madness. Stay tuned. Week 24 was pretty crazy.

Weeks 21 & 22: The somewhat disputed appearance of “pregnancy brain”

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brainLife stops for no man, or pregnant woman. Not that I expect it to, now that I’m in the ring for round two, but still.

You’ve probably heard the theories on “pregnancy brain”, which is also referred to as “baby brain”.  Whatever it’s called, I’m assuming it’s what’s happening when I find my salt shakers and honey bear in the fridge, or when I’ve left the broccoli I was steaming for supper on Monday sitting in the microwave until Wednesday.

Our good friends at Web MD say: “There is 15 to 40 times more progesterone and estrogen marinating the brain during pregnancy,” Louann Brizendine, MD, director of the Women’s Mood and Hormone Clinic at the University of California, San Francisco, says. “And these hormones affect all kinds of neurons in the brain.” The Mayo Clinic goes on to state that: “Some studies have shown that pregnancy impairs a woman’s memory during pregnancy and shortly afterward, possibly due to hormonal changes, sleep deprivation or the stress of coping with a major life change. Other research has shown that pregnancy and motherhood have no negative cognitive impacts.”

Apparently the jury is both in and out on “pregnancy brain.” But in my estimation, there’s no mistaking it.

So back in March, at weeks 21 and 22 I was full steam ahead at work. Hazelden’s spring board meeting was againIMG_0629 scheduled in Naples, Florida, and I was not about to argue. MinneSNOWta was starting to get to me. To make things even better, my best friends from college, Juliette and Sarah, decided to join me for the trip. (And Kari, we are still sad you couldn’t come.)

But here was the reality. I have never double checked so much of my work as many times as I did for this event. I’m sure my co-workers thought I was batty, staring at the same screens hour after hour, pouring over emails line by line, matching itineraries, firming up the agenda. I knew it had to be done. Pregnant brain was in full force, but I still had a job to take care of.

Luckily, all went well. I guess I could accuse someone in the catering department of their own case of pregnant brain, since they simply forgot to bring a few of the items I ordered for a dinner reception, but what can you do. Pregnant brain happens, and the best thing I’ve learned to do is know when to take a little leeway. If something is really important, double check the heck out of it. And if it’s not, just remember to laugh when you find you’ve packed twelve tank tops and 1 pair of pants in your vacation luggage.

Week 20: Forbidden worlds and dry creek beds

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14319317-dry-river-bed-clay-with-cracksI am learning that I rely a little too much on my smart phone. As a result, I may be getting dumber.

Today was 20-week-Level-2-3D-ultrasound day at the Amplatz Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis. Lovely place. Not such a lovely location. But after cutting a few folks off while staring at my phone, deciphering directions, circling the block, and driving through all twelve levels of the parking ramp, Jason and I finally found a spot on the roof. We take the elevator down. Walk four snowy blocks to the hospital entrance. Ask the smiling young greeter what level the maternal fetal medicine clinic was on. And receive a blank stare.

Ma’am, that clinic is on the other side of campus, across the river.

Uh oh.  Jason and I exchange glances. I check my phone for the time, which screams 5 minutes late. Okay. Can we walk there?

Well, it’s about two miles. The greeter looks at my stomach. I look at my high heeled boots.

Hm. Do you have a shuttle?

Yes, but the next one isn’t for another hour.

Great.

My world falls with all the weight of a dead elephant. I second guess everything: my ability to function as a grown up, read a smartphone map, drive around a car full of kids. What was I doing? Who let me out of the house?

****

The truth is, I am nervous about this appointment. But more than that, I am nervous about what seems like the heavy responsibility of carrying two individual lives. Remember when I talked about twin to twin transfusion early on? This appointment would be the first determining factor in whether or not that was starting to occur. It would also give us an in-depth look at all the inner workings of each baby’s development. Plus, we’d get to see their faces. Not just the black and white profile outlines we were used to, but the actual lips, eyes, noses. It was almost as though we were being allowed in sacred, and somewhat forbidden territory.

****

Fifteen minutes later, we checked in at the right clinic, and stared in awe for the next hour as the ultrasound technician carefully went over every inch of our growing babies. We heard doppler readings off their hearts and umbilical cords, saw every perfect pocket of fluid in their bodies, and marveled as they measured thigh bones and fingertip length. All the numbers added up. The babies were healthy.

I don’t know why, specifically, the 20 week appointment was so nerve wracking. Maybe it was all the talk of level 2 and the new location. Maybe it was the official half way mark. Maybe it was seeing the babies in 3D, which was not magical at all, but actually, (and yes, I really mean this,) pretty creepy.

Maybe it’s because even when I have faith that things are going to be okay, I don’t completely trust that they will be.

This is not crazy. Sometimes, things aren’t okay. Sometimes babies die with no explanation, airplanes nosedive into cornfields, and local stores get robbed at gunpoint. This is not a perfect world. But then I think back to the apostle Paul in Philippians 4:13, saying I can do everything THROUGH HIM who gives me strength. Paul didn’t worry about his own inability to control, or make everything turn out perfectly. He recognized his own efforts as a dry river bed, ineffective and useless until it welcomed the spring thaw pounding down from the mountains above.

****

I guess what I’m trying to say, in my own imperfect and stumbling way, is that here at 20 weeks, I am a riverbed waiting for for something to go wrong, instead of waiting for rain. I have faith the water is coming; I also feel a little cracked and crumbly on my banks.

But I don’t want to spend this entire pregnancy worried about everything that could happen. I will drive myself (and everyone around me) batty. So here is what I know today: at the half way leg of this race, the babies are healthy. I am healthy. God has, and will continue to provide. And more than that, He will be the source that fills my dry river bed and turns me into a singing stream.

If I have faith to wait  for it.

 

Weeks 19 & 22: Potty Training Ruminations

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toiletWeek 19 – Potty Training Ruminations, Part 1

Before you think I have some fairly advanced aspirations for the twins, let me clarify. Miss Ellis has decided that it’s time to start potty training. She is 19 months old. We kind of think she’s crazy.

Here’s the deal – as long as she’s interested and shows signs of willingness, we’re going for it. To have her out of diapers before the babies arrive would be an amazing blessing for our budget. So, training pants are in, and diapers are out. (Except special occasions, like bedtime. And friends weekend. And church.)

Here are the things that made us realize she might be ready:

  • She was very interested in both of us using the bathroom. We have one bathroom in the house, and decided to keep an open door policy during this learning time.
  • Jason bought a plastic Prince Lionhart seat at Target that suction cups to the toilet. We figured it’d be good to have on hand, just in case. Ellie immediately wanted to try it out.
  • During the first three intensive days, it wasn’t hard to encourage her to use the toilet. She threw a few fits now and then, but was generally amiable to the idea of sitting on the potty.

We’ve decided to go with the three day method, which is nicely detailed here at a blog called Not Without Aim. (The author, Becky Olmstead, used to go to my church. She has potty trained 14 children – no small credential when it comes to this subject.)

 I’ll let you know how the process is going after a few weeks.

***

Week 22 – Potty Training Ruminations, Part 2

It’s not fun to hear someone tell you “I told you so.” It’s even worse when you say to yourself.

After three weeks of pretty intensive potty training, we are giving it a rest. Both Jason and I predicted Ellis was too young, but like starry eyed fools, we pictured a world with no more dirty diapers and little underpants fluttering happily in the breeze on the clothes line. So. Until Ellis regains her interest in the using the potty and ASKS to use it (instead us badgering her every hour on the hour), we are on potty training sabbatical.

Here are the warning signs you may want to watch for when deciding to call the game:

  • When your toddler makes a habit of kicking and screaming on the toilet, refuses to eliminate, and then throws wads of crumpled toilet paper on the floor, you might want to start keeping track of how often it occurs.
  • When your ever-patient friend and childcare giver sends you home with plastic bags of stain treated pants every day for a week, it’s time to assess the situation.
  • And when your adorable toddler suddenly refuses to even sit on the toilet, throws a fit, and then goes into the kitchen, takes off her pants, yanks off her diaper, and pees on the floor, it’s time to call it off.

***

It’s a little strange – this parenting and pregnancy thing at the same time. My attention is split. On one hand, I’m reading Mrs. McNosh Hangs up her Wash for the hundredth time and cajoling my toddler into peeing. On the other, I’m adjusting my pants, straightening up because someone’s elbow feels like it’s stuck in my left ribs.

This is only going to keep happening, I know. (The rib thing AND the parenting thing.) But there’s something daunting about parenting when I realize I will have to focus in on two different age groups of kids. Then again, life is all about balances, and here’s the truth of the matter.  I can make rice and stir fry veggies at the same time. I can kick around poem ideas in my head and write governance resolutions at work. I can fold laundry in a yoga pose and come away feeling relaxed.

The point is this: Multi-tasking is often mandatory in our lives. It’s rubber and road. And it’s possible, with a little practice, to do it well. And on the days when we don’t do it well, there’s always tomorrow. Or in the case of potty training, in another six months.

Week 25 – Gestational Diabetes

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I know, I know! I’m jumping ahead. But this week’s events are on my mind, and since so many of you have been kind in praying and asking how things went with the test, I wanted to share the results. Thank you for your overwhelming care and for being in touch! I promise I’ll get back to posting the events from weeks 19 and 20 shortly. We should be caught up soon!

——————————

NeedlesIt is a Saturday morning, and the digital clock display has been reading 4:47, 4:54, 5:02, 5:09 ever since I got up to make a bathroom run. I finally gave up and got out of bed. Here’s my consolation: I am hungry, and I can eat a bowl of cereal without any little worried sensors firing in my brain. Why? Because yesterday, after the three hour intensive monitoring session, I tested negative for gestational diabetes.

Last week, my doctor ordered me a lab draw for the routine 1 hour test because I had a concern about my blood sugar. Not surprisingly, I tested positive. Not grossly so – the cutoff point for re-testing was 140, and I came in at 146. (A score of 200 means you’re automatically diabetic. Anything below 140 and you’re off to your favorite Italian joint for rigatoni.)

So, I waited in limbo land this week so that I could do the intensive 3 hour test and either confirm or deny the potential diagnosis. It wasn’t pleasant. I had everything I could do not to picture a three month span of vegetables (which I don’t appreciate as much being pregnant) and meat (which I’m far too lazy to cook for every meal.)

Here’s how I figured this would all go down. I’d get there, do a blood draw, down the sugar poison, and then spend three hours waiting before they drew my blood again. The kind nurse would tell me, sure honey, go ahead and drink that coffee of yours, it won’t make a difference. And some sort of private room would magically open up so I could plug in my laptop, get some work done, and then do one more blood draw that would pronounce me free and clear.

Not quite. And just in case you didn’t know, I don’t do well with needles. (A historical series of shots in 10th grade got me so worked up that I passed out and went into convulsions.) So when the technician told me she’d be doing four blood draws that morning, every hour on the hour, I gulped. Put on my brave face. And politely asked I could at least drink my travel mug of coffee.

The answer was no. No food, no drink, no leaving the hospital. Okaaaaaaaay. I adjusted my expectations, and found a seat in the cafeteria close to an outlet. The first hour flew by. Blood draw, check. And then came the second hour. The world was decidedly less rosy. My blood sugar levels were dropping fast and I started to feel woozy. Time for the next draw. And you know what? It hurt. A lot.

My emotions flared. So if you saw me in the waiting room yesterday, I was the girl in the corner, crying into a wad of toilet paper because I couldn’t for the life of me find a Kleenex box. It wouldn’t stop. At one point, I even asked myself why I was crying, and then commenced crying even harder. I hated the cackling daytime television hosts laughing from the corner. I hated thinking about anything that would compromise the safety of my babies. I hated vinyl covered chairs. I hated the fact that I was anxious, hungry, and thirsty, and could do nothing about any single of them.

Thankfully, the final hour went fast. The tech took my blood one more time and told me to call back in three hours for the results. Then she stopped, looked me in the eyes, and asked me if I was okay. I looked back at her, sighed, and said no. The tears started stinging my eyes again. And then she asked me the kindest question known to man.

Would you like a slice of homemade lemon bread and something to drink?

I nodded. There was nothing I needed more, at that moment, than a little bit of care. She came back and handed me a small plate. The lemon bread was fresh. Warm. Perfectly sugar crusted and bright. It was the best thing I’d eaten in days.

***

As I collected my things and headed out across the snow-filled parking lot, it dawned on me that I didn’t even think of saying no to the nurse’s offer. I knew I needed help. And in the coming months, I was going to need a lot more of it, if only I could remember to be humble enough to be honest.

Outside the window, the blue-gray sky has grown light enough to see the hazy outlines of the trees. It is  6:07, and I’ve had first breakfast (yes, I eat a like a hobbit these days) and strong cup of coffee. And what I will carry into this day is a widening horizon of awareness. I will ask for help when I need it. Better yet, I will look for those I can return the favor to. Because no matter what we’re carrying, we all need a little extra kindness.

As for second breakfast? Well, need you ask? We’re having pancakes.

18 weeks – A little bit of grace

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Bayfield 09 067

Bayfield Ice Caves, 2009

For the past five years, we and our college friends have scheduled a weekend getaway in February. We’ve explored ice caves in Bayfield, played snow football in Sauk Center, strapped on snowshoes in Garrison (twice), and this year, braved a major snowfall to relax in the woods by Balsam Lake.

I always look forward to the weekend away. There is amazing food. (Seriously, how are all our friends such gourmands?) Laughter so hard it makes my gut hurt. Serious conversation over strong, dark coffee. Community.

Here’s the rub. For some reason, I have a strange new tendency to get stressed out about things being messy. Ask Jason. He’s dealt first-hand with my no-reason meltdowns. I think his favorite was the recent two-day crab fest I threw about not being able to see the floor of the bedroom. (Which was my own fault – I’ve been mining my drawers and closet for anything that still remotely fits.)

For those of you that know me, you realize just how weird this is. I’m not a neat freak. I’m not even that neat. I get a little punchy about the floors being dirty, but otherwise, I can ignore prize-winning dust collections with the best of them. So getting stressed about messiness is a true pregnancy symptom.

2010 getaway

Sauk Center, 2010

There was plenty of mess this weekend. Eight adults, four toddlers, and one infant generate a whirlwind of paraphernalia. We all had our own bedrooms, but the common areas were an onslaught of crayons, dinosaurs, and Mr. Potato Head mustaches. This didn’t include the various water glasses, mugs, snack plates, books, phones, and keys that multiplied as fast as unpaired socks. It was a very benign version of my pregnant nightmare.

But I decided, Saturday morning, to face it head-on. To sit down in the middle of the chaos. To quit cleaning and play with my daughter, who insists on waking up at 6:45 am even on friend’s weekend. Why? Because pretty soon, there are going to be two more babies in my house. And babies produce mess after mess after mess. I am going to have to learn to live with it. Cook alongside it. Clean it when I can.  2010 getaway 2

What I hope I find buried knee deep in the toy box and burp rag bin is grace. Grace that takes the time to play. Grace that wipes up spit-up and scrubs stains out of white onesies. Grace that puts the dirty details firmly in their place once and for all.

17 Weeks – A little more to cover

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towelHere’s the deal: I work at being a fit and healthful individual, because it gives me energy to live inside my life. But let me be frank. I do not run marathons. I have never been a muscle junkie. And no one could ever accuse me of looking malnourished. (I will forever be in love with butter and chocolate malts.)

I am happy, healthy, and have no qualms about being solidly average sized.

But after I learned about the twins, one of my first thoughts (after the initial holy-crap-we-need-two-of-everything-freak-out week) was, I better start lifting weights – now.

This is tricky though. I’ve taken a hiatus from teaching group fitness (instructing Pilates with a belly full of twins? No, thank you.) I’m not training for a backpacking trek, and my personal hand weights are wasting away next to my painting smock in some improperly labeled box in the basement. So I’ve had to come up with a new routine.

Enter: The fitness center at my workplace. Because everyone loves sweating to the 80’s with their coworkers in the middle of the day.

But if I want to get any exercise, this is the only “free” time in my schedule to do it. So, I dutifully pack my gym bag 2-3 times a week, walk circles around the gym like a lab rat on autopilot, and then lift weights.

Anyway, here’s the best part of the story.

On this particular day, I got warm enough to want to shower after my walk, so I grabbed a couple of gym towels and headed down to the locker room after my work out. Notice I say two towels. Just to be safe. 17 weeks is no joke this time around – at this point I am already rocking a sizable girth.

I got undressed, and proceeded to try wrapping one towel around my hips, and one over my top. Except that neither of them were now big enough to close around my newly grown belly. So there I stood, mostly uncovered save for two postage stamp towels, surveying the 20 foot distance from the lockers to the showers. It may as well have been a football field.

As grace would have it, the room was empty. So I took a deep breath, grabbed my clean clothes, and made a beeline for the shower with my hind end flapping in the breeze.

Apparently, I need to start packing my beach towel in my gym bag.