Tuesday morning I went to the state capitol to speak to elected officials about the March of Dimes. Being out in the world around other adults has become thrillingly novel, and I am no longer well-equipped for it, sadly. First there was the problem of clothing myself, as my customary uniform of housepants and a long-sleeved t-shirt would have been inappropriate. Though I now wonder whether seeing me with my unwashed hair in a bun, spit up on my knee, and bits of Cheerio clinging to my left breast would have inspired useful sympathy, or better yet, financial support for a March of Dimes pilot program wherein mothers of preemies are flown to Bermuda for the second half of RSV season and plied with strong drink and grilled shrimp eaten off the smooth torsos of cabana boys.
Anyhow, I managed to unearth my one pair of fancy pants from a bag of dry cleaning that one of the cats had been using as a lair. The pants in question appeared to be made entirely of cat hair when I found them, but I recognized the label and knew that there was perfectly good black material underneath. After I had removed the worst of the furriness with duct tape, I hung the pants in the bathroom with the shower running in an attempt to steam out the 6-month-old creases. We do own an iron, by the way, but I am ashamed to say that it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that I even remembered the existence of such a fantastical, fabric-smoothing appliance. Luckily, the never worn button-down shirt I paired with the pants still had creases running down the arms, so I figured “creases” could be the unifying theme tying my outfit together. Missing from my ensemble was underwear, because I couldn’t find any.
The meetings went well, I think, though to be perfectly honest I can’t remember what I said. Well, that’s not entirely true. I DO remember that at one point I was mentioning my hairdresser’s loss of premature twins 20 years ago, only for some reason I thought “hairdresser” made me sound like Emily Gilmore, or something—some vain, bourgeois woman who goes once a week to have her hair set in rollers—and because I couldn’t remember another word for it (Stylist! Woman who cuts my hair!) I ended up referring to her as my “hair…cutter” after a long, panicky, aphasia-driven pause.
I think I write with some level of competence. I can make my point clearly, sometimes even with a soupcon of elegance. But speaking, you would never believe English is my first language. There are so many words to choose from, you see, and I can’t sort through them fast enough to articulate myself in conversation. Then I get flustered, and either babble wildly or shut down altogether. Those of you who will be at the St. Paul March of for Babies will see what I mean when I speak—my plan if I get stuck is to fall off the stage as a distraction. It should be a good time either way.
Anyhow, I got to live out my West Wing fantasies for a morning, which was more than worth any awkwardness, and because I am a huge civics nerd who spent all her time at her last job reading the laws she was supposed to be editing, I developed a little crush on the woman leading our group, who wears suits and talks easily about bill language and gets to play Josh Lyman while advocating for babies. I mean really—does it get any better?
Our legislative visits were in the state office building, across from where we met in the capitol-proper, and because this is Minnesota, there are underground tunnels connecting the two. These tunnels were like something out of a Law & Order cold open. I kept expecting to round a corner and come upon a skeleton still wearing a tie, maybe next to HELP ME! spelled out in gnawed-upon rat bones. Everything was dank and yellowish and far more labyrinthine than necessary, and I wonder how many people have been lost down there and given up for dead.
After the capitol I raced home to take Simone to her appointment at the NICU Follow-Up Clinic. As you may recall, the last time she was there for a developmental assessment, things went…poorly. Like, “I think your baby might be deaf” poorly. Simone was five months adjusted at the time, testing in the two-month range for receptive language, with a delay in motor skills as well. So yes, I was nervous about Tuesday’s appointment, if by “nervous” you mean “moments from losing control of my bowels.” As it turned out, however, I needn’t have been: this time, Simone scored at or ahead of her adjusted age for everything, mostly in the nine-month range. And receptive language?
ELEVEN MONTHS, BITCHES.
Probably as a result of needing room for all that brain, her head is in the 90th percentile on the preemie charts. She’s coming for you, full-term babies. Watch your tiny backs.
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Oh, Alexa, I love you. ELEVEN MONTHS, BITCHES, indeed. I’ve got to run, though, because I need to warn my toddler son to watch his back. He moves fast, but not always in the direction he intends, so he’s going to need a head-start.
Awesome! Great news that Miss Simone is finally showing those “specialists” what she’s made of: stronger stuff then they’ve ever seen, I’ll wager.
And somehow I doubt that you are as inarticulate as you portray yourself to be.
Alexa.
I. love. you.
and Simone
you rock.
LMAO! She’s my…. uhm.. hair cutter person. And, someone make sure I get a copy of Alexa falling off the stage.
WooHoo for Simone’s super speedy progress.
Hells yeah! You go on with those mad language skills Simone! Your public speaking worries are over, Alexa; at this rate you’ll be able to enlist Simone as your speech writer in no time!
Oh congrats on living West Wing fantasies–and unearthing an outfit for it!
(I had to appear in court to adopt our foster daughter 2 days after giving birth to a son, and the wardrobe issues were severe–WHAT fits 2 days after birth?!)
haha! I feel your pain! I can string a sentence together well enough in writing to make myself understand, but ask me to speak and often what comes out of my mouth aren’t even real words. What’s worse is that I usually don’t even notice that they’re not words until people are looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and confusion because I’m clearly insane.
Anyway, I’m glad it went well. All fingers crossed for big wads of funding.
Your posts make me laugh so hard, thank you for that!! And yay to Simone for rocking her assessment!
Excuse the shouting, but WAY TO GO SIMONE!!! You go girl!
GOOD JOB Simone!!
go simone! oh yeah and i second the idea of spending the second half of rsv season in bermuda.
Love those big-headed brainy babies! (And those cabana boys…)
First time poster, I read 90th percentile as goth percentile which I think is quite a good idea! Glad that Simone is going so well!
We have NICU follow-up on Tuesday. I plan on taking an enema before we go. (Does one *take* an enema or *get* an enema? Bygones.)
Where can I sign up for that Bermuda trip?
God, I’m so happy for Simone! Can you get her to email Harry some tips when she has a spare second?!
My mental back-up when I’m terrified of a vocal stall during a public appearance is to resolve to suddenly shout ‘They stole my pills!’ Grandpa Simpson-fashion, and shamble off with a deranged expression.
Borrow it, by all means.
Something has just sunk in… you have a *preemie* growth chart there in the US? Where may I download such a wonder? I’m so sick and tired of Tiny Man being consistently on the 0.4th height percentile for full-termers. Mind you, at 7 months Simone’s senior, you’d think he’d have caught up by now if he’d have wanted to.
I hope that one day we’ll have a conversation and then you won’t feel all that bad about your speaking abilities. First I mumble, then ramble and then when unable to find the word I need (which is OFTEN) I say, “oh…you know…” like that’s a perfectly acceptable replacement for a noun.
It’s so sad.
There is a reason I blog! Mostly because I can write things no problem, that are incredibly hard to say out loud.
In person, if people judge me, I swear, I wither up and die. Which is not good and leads to mimicking your reaction of losing control of the bowels. And crying in public.
And I mumble a lot, rather incoherently. So if I have to speak at a mic, the mental energy I require to speak clearly and still say something intelligent almost kills me.
I once read (although I now have no idea where) that introverts (which it sounds like you may be, sorry if I’m being presumptive) store language in the long-term memory area of the brain whereas extroverts keep it in the short-term section. It takes just ever so slightly longer for introverts to retrieve the correct word causing them to occasionally stumble. This may be a load of hooey, but it fits the way my brain works. Although even in my writing I’m certainly not as eloquent as you. Hence the use of the word hooey.
I watched a programme on genius children the other night. One of the kids featured was a 10 year old girl who has written a few books and hundreds of short stories. She also does seminars for children and…Microsoft. It creeped me out, that little person being all adult and shit.
The moral to this story is – don’t let Simone be that girl. It starts at eleven months in receptive language, and ends in being 7 years old and specialising in early Anglo-Saxon literature.
Go Simone!
I’m waiting for the tv show — deliciously funny often blue-mouthed mommy does great things for state (often saving them from terrorist threats!) while raising precocious 11 MONTH, BITCHES! skillz adorable baby. Madcap hilarity ensues.
Rock on, you two.
Great news about Simone’s appointment!
Great Post. Wish I could be a fly somewhere when you do the March of/for/whatever the Babies. I think you should publish a transcript on the blog ;-) Please…?
Yay for Super Simone – and it’s STILL January, can it be trying to make amends for all the crap it has put you though before?
Glee! I am glad Simone gets to star in her own imaginary sports or horror movie whereupon she gets to flaunt her EXCELLENT progress. I still giggle a bit when I think of your being entreated upon to “act like tools” by the therapist to underscore the relationship between sound and objects. Glad to see it paid off; now I have to go ANSWER THE PHONE. THAT IS RINGING.
I completely understand the frustration associated with being able to communicate very well in the written form but failing when it comes time to open mouth, express words.
In college, my friend (a fellow English major) and I decided our war cry should be, “Give us a pen and paper, and we’ll out write your stupid ass!” Not the most poetic of cries, but it developed from our lack of verbal communication skills. Glad to see that we’re not alone in our plight.
And congratulations and thanks to you for being an advocate for the itty bitty babies of the country.
Cute. Congrats on the testing. I know another writer type who has trouble speaking…
Cheers.
I completely agree with your take on public speaking. I was so flustered and nervous during my last large presentation that my lips were trembling for the whole 10 minutes! Speaking becomes difficult when your voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. However, my colleagues said I sounded just fine.. eloquent even. I think they were lying to make me feel better.
It’s wonderful to hear that Simone’s last visit went so well. Bermuda sounds lovely, and if you start a petition, I’ll gladly force all of my friends and relatives to sign it for you.
WOOO HOOOOO! Simone Smarty Pants!
I’m so happy Simone is doing so well!
yay what an excellent day! I am so glad to hear simone is doing so awesome! and soo fun being all law and orderish all day!
A nice big glass of Estancia and lots of grilled shrimp! Now you’re talkin’!!! Estancia works for me too, I used to get horrible migraines from some red wines. Good luck with your mission! And Simone is just SO ADORABLE. Getting cuter by the day.
I hate public speaking and avoid at all cost,because I think I sound like a gerbil on speed. Maybe fainting off the stage would work? you go girl and Simone you rock.
I’m so thrilled for Simone! If anyone ever doubts how incredible even minor therapy can be for a baby, we’ll have Simone sit them down for a talk.
When *I* talk, on the other hand, I sometimes lose words and fall back on hand gestures. I’ll walk around my office saying, “Have you seen the…[flexing fingers in a squeezing motion]?” until someone gives me the stapler.
simone will soon be the bosses of those bitches… say, in a few years… then heads will roll… yea, brilliant baby…
Yay, yay, yay for advocacy! I used to be the “Josh Lyman girl” for an organization, and lobbying with grassroots folks experienced in our issues always gave the visits such credibility (compared to just being a DC policy wonk on my own). Your participation probably made that woman’s day.
god, what i wouldn’t give to be in st paul for your talk. even with the cold!
in junior high i won the school spelling bee, in part, i think, by goofing off on my chair on the highest riser on the stage and knocking myself off, backward. it really blew everybody else’s concentration.
Long time reading. First-time commenter.
I’m thrilled she is doing so well. b
Break a leg in St. Paul (but not by falling of the stage)
Please run for office? We’d probably all move to Minnesota just to vote for you. And go, Simone! See, January isn’t all bad.
Go Simone!
Ah…another reason I’m an avid reader of your blog: your Emily Gilmore reference. I’m considering going on a March for bringing the Gilmore Girls back. Who’s with me?
Oh-And congrats to Simone (and yes, I’m a lurker coming out of the closet here!)
January finally came through. ‘Bout friggen time.
I so related to this post. Although I have not gone to the state capital for anything. 3.5 weeks after my son was born, I do remember traveling to a wedding and forgetting my slip for my dress and also any neutral colored underwear. You can imagine the spectacle I created with my rainbow underwear shining through my dress as I carried my tiny, screaming new son around for introductions. UGH.
As far as the aphasia goes, let’s just say I recently attended a marketing meeting where I could barely piece together 2 sentences. Good thing there is two drink minimum at our marketing meetings.
But back to you Flotsam family, Alexa you rock. I love the articles on exercise at Lemondrop. I’m bummed about the magazine article. Keep pushing it to others. And your big headed baby is just the best!! I’m so glad the NICU appt. went so well and yes I will hiding my full term baby boy just in case Simon decides to pay us a visit. ;-)
xoxo
Sarah
I’m never at a loss for the right word but my writing sucks. Sigh.
Anyway, I am so so so glad to hear that Simone rocked her check-up. She was obviously just screwing with you last time.
hooray! go you! and go Simone!
I feel the exact. same. way about speaking out loud. Which kind of makes it unfortunate that I’ve boxed myself into the profession of English professor. Heh.
i have that problem when i speak aloud, too. i find the whole never going out thing very helpful, as a result…though i suppose your point was actually that sometimes one HAS to go out for the good of humankind and all, but as i see it you’re out there doing that for me (in pants! fancy!) so i can just sit here in my lair and thank you.
and ms. Fathead is congratulated on her obvious talents. :)
I think Simone has a soupcon, too. Must be hereditary.
Hooray!
whew I am just glad that I am not the one who has kids with 90th percentile heads!!! LOL I am so glad her evaluation went well and I think its awesome that you are speaking out on behalf of premature babies! YAY Alexa!
YEAH SIMONE!!!! You go with your tiny little bad self!
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