When our local Dolly Madison plant shut down in the wake of Hostess brand's bankruptcy, it put several twinkie bakers out of work (thankfully it was only temporary and many of them are back in business!). And though I was sad for their unemployment status, I was also a bit jealous because the end to my twinkie baking was a LONG way away. I was still quite pregnant.
In the last weeks of my pregnancy I was measuring well beyond my actual baking time. It seemed the progesterone shots were working their magic and giving my uterus all kinds of room to stretch and accommodate the growing twinkies because all three of us were doing some serious growing. In fact, at my last ultrasound and OB appointments we were carrying some seriously heavy numbers. I'd put on 40 pounds from the start. The twinks were estimated to weigh over 5 lbs each. And I was measuring a chick 46 weeks into her pregnancy, which makes me sound a bit like an overachiever, but I wasn't even 35 weeks along at the time.
And that's just the last time we actually measured.
In the time between then and the actual d-day (maybe a week??), things continued to expand. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the estimates that folks gave me in the early days of how much I'd gain with twins were dead on. I weighed over 200 lbs. when we arrived at the hospital for their birth....I'd put on exactly 50 pounds, the last 10 of which I knew was nothing but water weight as I swelled to the size of a zeppelin.
This picture was also taken the day before I delivered...I'd been sporting those cracks for a couple of weeks before then. But on this day, (despite the risk of infection) I was determined to have a pedicure. The whole of me felt disgusting and uncomfortable so I figured I could at least have decent looking toe nails as they strapped me to the gurney for fileting.
Here are pics of my feet from other occasions before D-day:
Suffice it to say, I was miserable. Every movement hurt....even sitting still. Though I once believed I could actually make it all the way without getting stretch marks, my beliefs were quickly shattered. One day I went to bed after discovering my first TWO stretch marks (I cried myself to sleep over those) and woke up with what seemed like 10 times that many the next morning. And they only got worse from there.
As the swelling set in it's a wonder I didn't have stretch marks elsewhere - like between my toes. My skin was stretched so badly, not just on my stomach, but everywhere. Everything but my hair felt and looked pregnant and my skin groaned from the pressure. My legs constantly felt as though the skin around them would pop....the only pain comparison I can offer is that of a shin splint...only more severe and more constant. I could literally feel my pulse in the tight skin of my calves.
If the tampons up my nose didn't subject me to enough embarassment in earlier days, the old lady compression stockings the hubs would stuff me into surely did the job.
I tried elevating my feet, but that came with its' own set of issues, as well. One, I don't like to sit still when others around me are buzzing with action. Makes me nervous. Makes me feel like I'm gonna miss the bus to some important destination. Two, sitting still wasn't any more comfortable than standing. It just made other parts of me hurt. Like my tail bone. Poor thing still hasn't recovered post-partum.
I kept moving for the most part because despite the aches and pains (I felt them lying down, too) I was at least able to accomplish something...and that lessened the psychological stress for me if not the physical.
Heck, I was still mowing grass (on a riding mower) and washing the car in my bikini not long before the twinks emerged. I do not have pictures of that (aren't you glad?!). No doubt it was scary for witnesses. Too bad. My car needed to be washed before the babies went in it. And I needed a tan. Brown fat is much prettier than white fat.
Each morning I'd wake up (if you can call it that, since I didn't really sleep to begin with), say a prayer of thanks to God for blessing me to see another sunrise, get in the shower, put my shoes on (before any other article of clothing unless I was planning to go barefoot), and put one foot in front of the other until the day was done. I didn't slow down.
Until I did.
In the last 2 weeks of my pregnancy, my misery reached highs I never knew existed. I was constantly in tears from the discomfort. And though I wasn't ready for the babies to be on the outside, I couldn't take any more of them being on the inside either. If I had been able to move more easily, my white flag would have been raised.
One morning my prayer actually went like this:
"Dear God, thank you for this day. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I'm struggling to stay in this skin for another day. I dont want to pray for an early delivery because I know that's not best for the twinkies. But I'm also growing weary. So, if there's any way you could turn me into a chicken and the twinkies into eggs I promise to sit on them 24/7 until we've reached 40 weeks and you can turn me back to myself. I just can't hold them inside anymore. Amen."
He didn't turn me into an actual chicken, but that didn't stop me from acting like one. I stopped short of scratching and pecking at the dirt, but only barely.
I was desparate. They had to get out. Their once cute kicks and bumps were now agonizing. Their fits of hunger and hiccups (which we're still plagued with today and are no less irritating) brought tears to my eyes. Despite my concerns for their well being, I was done. Finito. They had overstayed their welcome. I sent daily eviction notices when I screamed "GET OUT!" to them while holding my belly up. All to no avail.
I'd tried bribing the doctor with a prompt delivery of filet mignon and case of his favorite Mexican beer at the hospital if only he'd go ahead and cut them out.
But he wasn't budging. He wanted me to make the 36 week mark.
So I needed a plan of action.
And Operation Smoke 'Em Out came to be.
Doing a little research I learned that there are all kinds of remedies for birthin' babies on command.
One is eating spicy food. And so I ate hot wings as often and in as great quantity as my tongue would tolerate. I tried mixing them up with a salad every now and then for some nutrition.
No dice.
I tried pineapple....so much of it in fact that the inside of my mouth was raw and sore from all of the acid.
Nada.
I danced around the house and in the car - some more.
Still nothing happened.
So I tried doing squats. But nothing (or no one) came out. And let's face it, I wasn't able to do many of those anyway. The months of no exercise and weight gain, plus that crazy front hump left me with little stamina and zero balance.
Next was walking. I did that all day at work and the little ladies hadn't made an appearance, so I opted to amp up my speed. It didn't resemble power walking as much as power waddling, but it was the best I could do. I'm pretty sure I looked like Donkey Kong and funny noises followed me, but I did it anyway.
And still nothing.
I drank herbal tea. But that just made me sweat.
I considered a drive to Atlanta where Scalini's eggplant parmigiana is rumored to enduce labor almost instantaneously. But that plan was killed when the doc issued a travel ban. And my typically "outlaw" husband was all of a sudden following all of these crazy rules!!!!
If you're interested in visiting Scalini's yourself, here's the link! They fully believe their dish will help you push a kid out.
http://www.scalinis.com/Bambino.htm
Research shows that castor oil can help, but I steered clear of it after the hubs told me how disgusting it smelled and tasted. He reminded me that I wasn't willing to drink baking soda water for heartburn, so there was no way I would swallow castor oil once its' aroma hit my nostrils. I'm sure he was right (don't tell him though) because on one occasion when I was pulling my hair and screaming "GET OUT!" while pacing the living room like a caged lion, he grabbed the car keys and was heading out the door to the drug store for the rotten stuff. I conveniently remembered the car was low on fuel and told him before he got any further - I'd have hated to be the reason that he was walking on the side of the road, you know?
But there was a moment not long after this incident when my desperation returned and I eyeballed a quart of Castrol 10w40 motor oil in our carport with second thoughts. Fantasies of relief and visions of my feet (It'd been a while since I'd seen them) swirled through my head as I wondered if it had the same effect as castor oil when ingested. Heck, there wasn't even a huge difference in the name....just one little ol' L. Thankfully, I spared us all the trauma when I decided I didn't want to smell like my '65 Mustang when first meeting the twinkies. But it was a close call.
Nipple strimulation is said to lead to uterine contractions and help spur on labor. So if you live in my area you more than likely caught me perusing the aisles of Winn Dixie while groping my boobs. I don't like my boobs and never have - they've always been a nuisance bumping into stuff, hurting my back and drawing unwanted stares from short men who were eye level with them - so trust me, I wasn't touching them for kicks. It was pure function. I was desperate and didn't care who knew it.
But those efforts failed, too.
There was always the option of sex, but that requires a willing participant. Apparently uterine contractions experienced during intercourse help kick things into high gear. But the only kicking I was getting came from the 4 feet in my ribcage. The male's sperm is also said to contain hormones that soften the cervix and prime it for thinning. But the hubs was not interested in helping the cause in this manner - not even when I handed him a turkey baster and asked for a donation. He refused to take one for the team so to speak. Frustrating, yes. But I can also understand. I outweighed him at that point and yelped from pain all the time. I doubt all my lumps and ouch's and previous conversations about bum complications were turn on's for the poor guy.
Not long after, the doc finally consented to set a date for delivery - May 30th. Even if the twinkies weren't making efforts to move toward the light (and trust me, I'd considered lighting a fire and smoking them out), I was given a serious energy and morale boost with this deadline because my light at the end of the tunnel was getting brighter.
At the time I had no idea just how bright and awesome that light would be. It may have looked like the bright halogen lights of an operating room at the time, but it cast a whole new view - our newborn baby girls.
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