‘I can’t believe you can’t manage cling wrap. How would you ever fold a nappy? Can’t you just be normal about some things?’ She turned around. Gene had joined us from his bedroom. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Forget I said it. I just get frustrated sometimes because you have to do everything differently.’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Gene. ‘Don’s not the only man who has trouble with cling wrap. Or can’t find things in the fridge. I remember your friend Stefan back in Melbourne throwing a wobbly over someone stealing the sugar from the tearoom. He went on for about five minutes, and by the time he’d finished half the department was standing there, all looking at the sugar bowl, right in front of him.’
‘What’s Stefan got to do with anything?’ said Rosie.
‘Do you or Rosie want to do a shift?’ It was Jamie-Paul, the following night, texting from the wine bar that used to be a cocktail bar.
I texted back: ‘Has Wineman forgiven me?’
‘Who’s Wineman? Hector’s gone.’
Rosie offered to join me, but Jamie-Paul had said ‘you or Rosie’, which I interpreted as per common English usage as an exclusive or.
It was not quite the same as before, in part due to the absence of Rosie, but Jamie-Paul informed me that former clients were returning and asking for cocktails. Wineman had been dismissed following an incident in which nobody could produce a satisfactory whiskey sour for the owner’s brother. Christmas was only fifteen days in the future and the bar was busy—hence the need for my services. I left Rosie and Gene to eat the dinner I had prepared.
It was a good feeling making cocktails, an incredibly good feeling. I was competent and people appreciated my competence. Nobody cared about my opinions on gay couples raising children or whether I could guess what they were feeling or if I could manipulate cling wrap. I stayed past the end of my shift, working unpaid until the bar closed and I could walk home in the snow to an apartment made empty in a virtual sense by its occupants being asleep.
It did not work out exactly as planned. As I was writing a note to advise Gene and Rosie not to disturb me before 9.17 a.m., Rosie’s door opened. Her shape had definitely changed. I had a feeling that I was unable to name: some combination of love and distress.
‘You’re very late,’ she said. ‘We missed you. But Gene was nice. It’s difficult for all of us at the moment.’
She kissed me on the cheek, to complete the set of contradictory messages.
28
I had an opportunity to compensate for failing to attend the two ultrasound examinations.
The antenatal briefing was to be conducted at the hospital where Rosie had arranged for the birth to take place. I was determined to attend and perform well. The Good Fathers class, where I had graduated after only one session, was the benchmark.
Dave had already attended an antenatal class. ‘It’s mainly for the fathers,’ he said. ‘About what to expect, how to support your partner, that sort of stuff. The women know it all already. The guys embarrass themselves and their wives by how little they know.’
I would not be an embarrassment to Rosie.
‘I’m only doing this because it’s part of the deal,’ said Rosie as we rode the subway to the hospital. ‘I was tempted not to show up, just to call their bluff. What are they going to do? Not let me have my baby? Anyway, I’m probably not even going to have it here.’
‘It would be unwise to take any risk on such a crucial matter.’
‘Yeah, yeah. But like I said before, you didn’t have to come. They’d be discriminating against single mothers if they made the fathers come.’
‘Fathers are expected to attend,’ I said. ‘Fathers are provided with an understanding of what to expect in a supportive, non-threatening and fun environment.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Rosie. ‘Non-threatening is good. Wouldn’t want a karate exhibition.’
Rosie’s statement was completely unjustified, as she was unaware of the two occasions on which I had used martial arts in reasonable self-defence in New York. She was presumably referring to the Jacket Incident on our first date, and confirming her recent selective memory for events that cast me in a bad light, even though she had been amused at the time and come home with me.
In the foyer there was an urn, a selection of low-quality instant beverages, including several that were caffeinated, and sweet biscuits which were definitely not on the list of pregnancy power foods. We were three minutes early, but there were approximately eighteen people already present. All the women were at various stages of pregnancy. I did not see anyone who appeared to be a lesbian secondary carer.
A group of three introduced themselves to us: two pregnant women and a man. The women were named Madison (estimated age thirty-eight, BMI not estimated due to pregnancy but probably low under normal conditions) and Delancey (approximately twenty-three, BMI probably above twenty-eight under normal conditions). I pointed out that Madison and Delancey were both New York street names. My mind was working at maximum efficiency, hence noticing interesting patterns. The man, who was the husband of Madison and aged approximately fifty, BMI approximately twenty-eight, was named Bill.
‘There’s also a William Street,’ I said.
‘No big surprise there,’ said Bill, reasonably. ‘Got a name picked out for your boy or girl yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Rosie. ‘We haven’t even talked about it.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Bill. ‘It’s all we talk about.’
‘What about you?’ Rosie asked Delancey.
‘Madison and I talk about it a lot, but it’s a girl and it’s going to be Rosa after my mom. She was a single mom too.’ Repeating patterns.
Rosa was a similar name to Rosie. If her surname was Jarmine her name would be an anagram of ‘Rosie Jarman’. Or if it was Mentilli, it would be an anagram of ‘Rosie Tillman’ which would only be interesting if Rosie had adopted my surname when we were married.
‘I recommend avoiding a name associated with your ethnicity. To reduce prejudice,’ I said.
‘I think you might be the one bringing your prejudices with you,’ said Madison. ‘This is New York, not Alabama.’
‘Bertrand and Mullainathan’s study of discrimination in job applications was based on research in Boston and Chicago. It would seem unwise to take the risk.’
Another idea popped into my head unbidden. ‘You could call your child Wilma. A combination of William and Madison.’
‘There’s a name that’s due to come back,’ said Bill. ‘Since prehistoric times. What do you think, Mad?’ He was laughing. I was performing well—hyper-well—socially.
‘And how do you and Madison know each other?’ Rosie asked Delancey.
Madison answered. ‘Delancey’s my best friend. And our housekeeper.’
The relationship sounded very efficient. Interestingly, the first two letters of Delancey appended to the first two letters of Madison made (made!) made which was a homophone for Delancey’s role. Which was an anagram of Dame, which seemed to relate to Madison’s role. Also Edam, which is a cheese and mead, which is a honey-based alcoholic drink. It would be interesting to create a meal in which all foods were paired with anagram drinks.
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My racing mind was interrupted by the late arrival of the convenor. Before she could be distracted by educational tasks, I informed her of the catering problem, in some detail.
Rosie interrupted. ‘I think she’s got the message, Don.’
‘Oh, I’m glad we have a dad who knows about nutrition in pregnancy. Most don’t have a clue.’ Her name was Heidi (age approximately fifty, BMI twenty-six) and she seemed very friendly.
The education component commenced with introductions, followed by a video of actual births. I moved to the front row when one male student vacated his seat and left the room hurriedly. I had already watched numerous online videos covering the most common situations and complications, but the bigger screen was a definite benefit.
At the end, Heidi asked, ‘Any questions?’ She moved to the whiteboard in the front corner.
Remembering Jack the Biker’s recommendation, I shut the fuck up initially to give others an opportunity.
The first question was from a woman who identified herself as Maya. ‘In the breech presentation, wouldn’t they normally do a caesarean?’
‘That’s right. In this case, I guess they didn’t pick it up until labour was well along, and it was too late. And, as we all saw, it still worked out fine.’
‘I’ve been told I have to have a caesarean unless the baby turns. I really wanted a natural birth.’
‘Well, there are risk factors with a natural birth in breech position.’
‘How risky is it?’
‘I can’t give you all the facts and numbers—’
Fortunately, I could. I walked to the whiteboard and, using the red and black markers, showed how the umbilical cord could be crushed in a breech birth, and provided a breakdown of factors contributing to the decision to perform a caesarean section. Heidi stood beside me with her mouth open.
Maya was expecting her third child, so the risk was reduced. ‘Your pelvic bones and vagina will already be well stretched.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, buddy,’ said her husband.
When I had finished, everyone clapped.
‘I gather you’re an OBGYN,’ said Heidi.
‘No, just a father, recognising that I have a valuable and fulfilling role to play in the pregnancy.’
She laughed. ‘You’re an example to us all.’
I hoped Rosie, sitting at the back, had taken notice.
We covered a number of topics, most of which I was able to expand upon. I was conscious of Jack’s advice, but I seemed to be the only knowledgeable person in the room other than Heidi. Everything seemed to be going very well. The topic moved to breastfeeding, where I had extended my research beyond The Book.
‘It won’t always be easy, and you fathers have to support your partners’ choice to breastfeed,’ said Heidi.
‘Or not,’ I added, since the word choice implies an alternative.
‘I’m sure you’d agree, Don, that breastfeeding is always the preferred option.’
‘Not always. There are numerous factors which may affect the decision. I recommend a spreadsheet.’
‘But one huge factor is the immunity that breastfeeding gives to the child. We need a very strong reason to deny our child the best immune system.’
‘Agreed,’ I said.
‘Let’s move on then,’ said Heidi. But she had left out a critical fact!
‘Maximum immunity is achieved by sharing babies among mothers. In the ancestral environment, mothers fed one another’s children.’ I pointed to the Street Women. ‘Madison and Delancey are best friends, living in the same house with babies due concurrently. Obviously they should co-feed each other’s babies. In the interests of creating the best possible immune systems.’
I continued the argument with Rosie on the train home. In retrospect it was probably more of what Rosie would call a rant than an actual argument, due to all contributions being made by me.
‘Chapped nipples are reported to cause agony, but mothers are expected to continue feeding to improve the immune system. Yet a social convention, a constructed social convention with minimal underlying rationale, is enough to prevent a simple extension that—’
‘Please, Don, just shut up,’ said Rosie.
Rosie apologised a few minutes later, walking home from the subway. ‘Sorry I told you to shut up. I know it’s who you are and there’s nothing you can do about it. But you were just so embarrassing.’
‘Dave predicted embarrassment. It’s normal.’
But I was conscious that it was unlikely that anyone at Dave’s class had been the catalyst for the public breakup of two best friends and their employment relationship and an unstructured discussion involving most of the participants that violated the promise that the classes would be ‘non-threatening’.
‘Keep executing,’ Dave had said. To extend his baseball analogy, I was in imminent danger of being dropped from the roster. I needed help from the coach: my therapist.
‘I’m not your therapist, Don.’
I intercepted Lydia as she left the clinic at the end of the day. I’d had no success securing an appointment and detected obstruction. She refused my offer of coffee and insisted on returning upstairs to her office. I had come alone.
I told her everything, excluding the Rosie-Sonia substitution. More correctly, I planned to tell her everything, but the description of the Antenatal Uproar, which I commenced with in response to her question ‘What prompted you to come to see me?’, occupied thirty-nine minutes and was not finished when she interrupted. She was laughing. I could not have imagined Lydia laughing, but now she was laughing inappropriately at a situation that had driven my marriage to the brink of disaster.
‘Oh God, breastfeeding nazis. Women whose maids are their best friends. You know what David Sedaris says? None of these women have someone else’s maid as their best friend.’
It was an interesting observation, but not useful in solving my problem.
‘All right,’ said Lydia. ‘We didn’t get off to a very good start, you and I, and that’s partly my issue. We do need people like you. You should know that I cleared you with the police after the first session. The only child you’re a danger to is your own.’
I was shocked. ‘I’m a danger to my own child?’
‘I thought there was a risk. That’s why I used the lever of the police report to see you again. I wanted to make sure you were safe. Report me if you like, but I was doing it for a good reason, and now you’ve come back voluntarily.’ She looked at the clock. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
I almost missed the social signal because it was so unexpected. She wanted to continue the conversation. ‘Yes, please.’
She left me and returned with two coffees.
‘I’m officially finished for the day. I’m an hour past officially finished. But I want to tell you something. It might help to explain a few things.’
Lydia sipped her coffee and I did likewise. It was of the quality I would expect from a university tea-room. I continued drinking it anyway, and Lydia proceeded with her explanation.
‘About a year ago, I lost a patien
t. She had postpartum psychosis. You know what that is?’
‘Of course. One birth in 600. Frequently no prior history. More common in primagravidae. First births,’ I explained.
‘Thank you for the clarification, Doctor,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, I lost her and the baby. She killed the baby and committed suicide.’
‘You failed to diagnose the psychosis?’
‘I never saw it. The husband didn’t report anything wrong. He was…insensitive, so insensitive he didn’t notice his wife was psychotic.’
‘And you considered me capable of similar insensitivity?’
‘I know you’re trying to do the right thing. But I thought Rosie might be at risk of depression and you wouldn’t pick it up.’
‘Postnatal depression occurs in between ten and fourteen per cent of births. But I’m adept at administering the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.’
‘She completed the questionnaire?’
‘I asked her the questions.’
‘Trust me, Don, you’re not adept. But I’ve met Rosie. She’s remarkably robust, probably a result of her early life in Italy. She’s got your number. She obviously loves you, she’s got purpose and structure through her medical studies, she’s worked through her family issues, she’s got a good network of friends.’
It took me a moment to remember she was talking about Sonia.
‘What if she wasn’t studying? And didn’t have friends? And didn’t love me? Surely even the support of an insensitive husband would be better than zero.’
Lydia finished her coffee and stood up. ‘Luckily that’s not the position you’re in. But, paradoxically, having a husband like that is worse than having no supports. He may well keep the woman from taking some positive action by herself. In my opinion—and there’s research to support it—she’d be better off without him.’
The Rosie Effect Page 26