Overflowing Plate Syndrome

I have a problem. It's not a very serious problem, but a problem nonetheless. Anytime I'm at some sort of gathering where there is food, I can't contain myself. It's not that I over eat. Ok, I do over eat occasionally, but that's not the problem. The problem is I can't choose what to put on my plate, and so I just put everything on my plate; a classic case of Overflowing Plate Syndrome. Take an average Easter dinner for example. You may likely choose between ham or turkey, but I would take a serving of both. If there are ribs, brisket and fish, I'll take some too. Then, there are the side dishes that go with each: stuffing and mashed potatoes for the turkey, a pasta salad and some corn with the ham, and on and on. Take a pick between them... nah. I'll just continue to load my plate. Eventually, I end up with a twisted mass of consumables, baked beans on top of watermelon, gravy on my cranberry sauce, hot and cold foods merging to make an edible lukewarm mess. I once even had to put biscuits in my pockets because they wouldn't balance on top. Well, from what I have learned from TV therapists like Dr. Phil, it seems that talking about the problem is therapeutic. So, enjoy this post that parallels my eating habits, a veritable smorgasbord of topics all crammed onto one little plate, I mean post.

My mom, Grandma Sharon, came to town to help with the kids. The day that Bob and Judy left to go home, Rachel was left to take care of the kids for the day while I was at work. By the time I got home, Rachel was a broken woman. Malorie had screamed for an hour as Micah ate, and then as soon as mom got to Mal, Micah vomited his meal all over the crib. Rachel got him changed, and finally fed poor Malorie, and then pumped to an echo of crying babies who did not want to sleep. Then, ten minutes after they finally drifted off, time came for Micah to eat again, so he woke up and started asking for milk. By the time I got home, it took three episodes of Sex and The City, one massage and a three hour catnap to get Rachel back to life. Needless to say, we called in the reinforcements again, and are enjoying the help that comes with such a loving, wonderful family.

The kids went to the doctor yesterday for their one month check-up. This visit provided us some great information and reinforcement on how well they are doing. Micah is up to seven pounds, 15 oz. climbing from the 19th into the 25th percentile on weight. Micah is still a tough burp, but the doctor told us to limit our attempts to burp him to ten minutes per session. If he doesn't burp in that time, just put on a raincoat and let him continue eating. He may send it all back once the burp comes, but most of the time he keeps it all down, just erupting with a mammoth belch during the next burping interlude. Micah is now fully out of premie clothes, and may very well outgrow newborn size by this time next week. Also, he likes to cry for five minutes when we put him down to sleep, he then tapers off into a Pee Wee Herman type giggle/cry, muttering a throaty "Huh-huh, huh-huh" before finally settling into slumber. Rachel and I plan on getting it on video before he outgrows it.

Malorie is also growing like a weed, just a smaller weed than her brother. She grew to six pounds, 12 oz, moving her from the zeroth percentile up the the fifth. The doctor assured us that although 95 percent of babies her age are bigger then she is, she will continue to shoot through the growth chart and eventually join her brother in the normal range. Malorie's main issue we asked the doctor about is what we call her "snorking." She will rest comfortably for a period of time, but as soon as she stretches or gets active, she begins to snort, hiss, cough and labor to breathe. The doctor got a first hand view of the snorking ritual in the office, and told us it was nothing but a combination of Mal's tiny nostrils and her increased demand for air. She recommended saline drops to help until Malorie grows bigger nostrils and ditches the snorks. Malorie too has settled on a distinct cry. Instead of her brother's Pee Wee Herman/ Beavis and Butthead laughing cry, Malorie wails "nnn-GHEEE, nnn-GHEEE." I looked nnn-GHEEE and various other spellings up on an international database to see if maybe she was trying to say her first word, but the only translation I found to be reasonably close was on the website Urban Dictionary. Apparently Ungee means "a social situation in which you find it impossible to remove your own wedgie." I checked her diaper, and there was no such problem, so I'm convinced that she is not trying to tell us something significant.

After the doctor visit, Rachel and I had our first excursion with the kids. We fed them in the parking lot of a Whole Foods Grocery store, and then went inside to check the place out. After that, we shopped for dinner and diapers at a nearby Walmart. We even ran into a real-life Octomom in the candy aisle. She had a newborn in her cart, and so we stopped to talk. Then she told us about her eight other kids at home, and so we bolted just in case her crazy fertility was contagious.

OK, the plate, I mean post is overflowing. I will leave topics like Beard for Babies, breast milk cookies, baths, white noise machines and Chicago Bears football for next time. See, talking about a problem can be therapeutic. I only piled half the topics onto this plate, dang it, I mean post. Maybe next time I am at a family gathering I will be able to resist that smoked chicken wing. But I won't feel bad if it is in my pocket, resting next to a biscuit. I just need more therapy for Overflowing Plate Syndrome.