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.

 

What’s for supper? Crab cakes!

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Crab cakes – the finished version

You know those meals that get a hold of you and won’t let go? There’s some thing about the flavor, the texture, the simplicity… last night, that meal was Crab Cakes.

I know. I live in the Midwest. Seafood is a little bit sketchy in these parts. Everything is frozen, shipped, thawed, and glared at under florescent meat market lighting. And you know the worst offender of “seafood”? Imitation crab. Really. What the heck is surimi? How is it processed? What is that funny pink color on the outside?

Forgive me, but I don’t care.  Whenever I have the chance to swing by a Byerly’s, their imitation crab legs are one of the first things I pick up. I was assured that they were made in house, which I don’t really know what to think about, but the texture is firmer, the flavor is more meaty and less sweet, and they are generally under $5 for a package.

So, crab cakes hit the menu last night. I don’t really have a defined recipe for these, so what follows is a loose set of ideas. If you think you need more crumbs, more egg, more anything, go for it. Honestly, you really can’t screw these up too badly. The ingredients are simple and bright, and the whole meal comes together in about 15 minutes. Seriously. If you’re in a rut and need a new idea for this weekend, give these little guys a go. I promise they are worth it.

Ingredients 037

1 package of imitation crab legs (I prefer the kind from Byerly’s.)

1 cup Panko (Japanese bread crumbs)

1 tbsp chopped fresh dill (or cilantro if you’d prefer)

3 green onion spears

1 egg

1 tbsp fresh lemon juice

1 tbsp dijon mustard

Sea salt/fresh cracked black pepper
Method:

1. Shred the crab in a medium mixing bowl

2. Add the panko, dill, green onions, salt, and pepper. Mix.

3. In a separate bowl, mix the dijon mustard, egg, and lemon juice till combined. 041

4. Pour the sauce over the crab and crumbs. Mix again.

5. Heat a large skillet with two tbsp. vegetable oil

6. With your hands, take a biscuit sized patty of crab and press it together.

7. Place in the pan. Cook on medium high heat until crispy and brown, roughly 4 minutes per side.

8. Serve over whatever greens you have on hand. I prefer spinach and arugula.

9. If you’re a sauce person, grab another mixing bowl, and add Miracle Whip, lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Whisk together, pour over the top. If you’re feeling lazy, a dollop of miracle whip on the side of your plate to dip the crab cakes in will accomplish similar results.

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.

A farewell to carbs

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Well folks, we’ve hit a potential snag. I’m calling it potential, because the confirmation test is this coming Friday. But, as of my 24 week appointment, I failed to pass my glucose test. This means I may have gestational diabetes.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was a possibility. It’s more likely to occur with a twin pregnancy, and there was also the chocolate cake incident. The chocolate cake incident was one of the very few times this pregnancy where I’ve seriously thought, wow. Something is definitely wrong here.

Now I better explain that really, all the chocolate cake incident involved was a normal sized piece of cake, eaten at a co-worker mid-day celebration, which must have contained enough sugar to send me to the moon and back. Two minutes after I ate it, I got nauseated, dizzy, hot, and had to sit down. After which, I drank some water, waited a few minutes, and then resumed my normal activities. See? Not so scary, right?

I told my doctor at our next appointment, and she said we’d just wait to see what the glucose test results said. And bam. There it was. A failed test. Too much sugar, not enough insulin. Again, pretty common for a twin pregnancy – the placenta is working overtime for two babies, pumping out sugar and nutrients right and left. But my body isn’t able to keep up with enough insulin to deal with all that extra sugar.

So where does that leave me? This Friday I have a three hour glucose intensive. I will fast for 10-12 hours, go straight to the hospital, drink some nasty orange substance that reminds me of church day camp in the park, and then wait three hours for the result. After that, well, stay tuned. This carb and sugar loving girl might have a lot to learn in order to keep these babies healthy for the next three months.

 

 

 

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.

16 Weeks – unveiling of the genders

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Life is good for Baby B

Life is good for Baby B

So meanwhile, here’s what was happening back at 16 weeks…

Part 1

We didn’t find out the gender of our daughter until she was born. A whole pile of folks thought we were crazy for doing it that way, but we had our reasons. A first baby is a first baby; there are no particular reasons I NEEDED to know what kind of baby it may be. And I didn’t even know what kind of stuff I would need until Ellis lived in our house for 24 hours, and I realized that the purse size packet of wipes that someone had given me at a baby shower were not going to last.

There are plenty of fun reasons FOR finding out, and I totally get that, but for us, it just seemed fitting to wait.

This time feels different. Maybe I’m feeling a little more nervous about how much stuff we’re actually going to need for two babies. Maybe I think I’ve had enough surprises for one pregnancy and knowing the gender would be one less thing to throw me for a loop at the end. Maybe I’m turning into a control freak. Whatever the case may be, we’ve decided to find out the genders.

And now I’m going crazy waiting.

 

Part 2

I scheduled our 16 week ultrasound on my birthday. Self-gratifying? All the way. And I didn’t care. Jason and I left work early, hopped in the car, and made the trip to Wyoming. (Okay, every time I talk about our hospital being in Wyoming, which is, for the record, a physical town in Minnesota where my hospital happens to be located at, please don’t think I’m talking about some crazy cross-state excursion. I’m not. Wyoming is 15 minutes away.)

Hospital. Wyoming. Ultrasound. This is starting to sound familiar…. Except that this time, we know there are two babies, and now we just want to make sure they look healthy and happy. And, possibly, take a look at their gendered bits.

Which we did. 16 weeks is pretty early, so I’m not going to start getting serious about cruising sales racks for baby clothes until after the 20 week level two 3-D megatron ultrasound two hour marathon in downtown Minneapolis that we apparently need to have. But for now, we are operating under the learned knowledge that we are having identical…twin…

GIRLS.

We’re going to have to start saving for another bathroom. Stat.

 

Cereal Bowls and Gratitude

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In the Riebe house, you can measure how busy we’ve been by the amount of cereal bowls in the dishwasher. This morning, there are approximately five on the counter, 6 loaded haphazardly in the dishwasher, and 1 lone ranger left in the cupboard.

But the good news is this: between last week and this week, we’ve sold our land in Franconia, refinanced our rental, sold our car to make way for a bigger family vehicle (minivan- gulp), and I had a successful work-and-play vacation with some of my dearest girlfriends in Naples, Florida.

And no, we are planning to uproot and join a hippie commune in Nevada.

A couple weeks back I posted about providence and provision, and God continues to surprise and bless us in this area. Things are falling into place for us to be able to care for these baby girls. We are humbled, and we are grateful.

It’s Easter this weekend, and I know everyone celebrates this holiday differently. But if you haven’t thought, recently, about the biblical story of Easter, I encourage you to look it up. Read it again. Take a moment to reflect on God’s intimate encounter with humanity, and the reason why He chose to do it.

You may be surprised to realize it was for you.