‘Why specifically us?’

‘You don’t have local support. If you both had parents or siblings living here—maybe. There’s only so much child care you can contract out. I’d say, defer the whole year. Or the baby will suffer, the study will suffer, she’ll suffer. And let me tell you from bitter experience, you’ll suffer too.’

‘Seems like excellent advice. I’ll tell Rosie.’

‘Don’t tell her it came from me.’

The Dean of Medicine, our sponsor, an experienced parent. Could there be anyone with greater authority to offer advice on balancing medical studies and parenthood? Yet I suspected he was right in recommending I not mention his name. Rosie would instinctively reject the advice of an older male in authority.

My prediction was correct.

‘I’m not taking a year out of the program,’ Rosie said when I presented David’s advice that evening without citing its source. We were having dinner with Gene, our new family member, who was making use of one of the surplus chairs.

‘A year out is nothing in the long term,’ said Gene.

‘Did you take time off when Eugenie was born?’ said Rosie.

‘Claudia did.’

‘Then just equate me to you rather than Claudia. Or is that too big a leap?’

‘So Don’s going to look after the baby?’

Rosie laughed. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, Don has to work. And…’

I was interested to hear what other reasons Rosie might cite for my not being able to look after Bud, but Gene interrupted.

‘So who’s going to look after it?’

Rosie thought for a few moments.

‘I’ll take her—or him—with me.’

I was stunned. ‘You’ll take Bud to Columbia—to the hospitals?’ By the time Bud was born, Rosie would be working with actual patients—people riddled with infectious diseases—in situations where a baby underfoot could cause life-threatening disasters. Her approach seemed impractical and irresponsible.

‘I’m still thinking about it, okay? But it’s time they considered the needs of women with children. Instead of telling us to go away and come back when the baby’s grown up.’ Rosie pushed her plate aside. She had not finished her risotto. ‘I need to do some work.’

Once again, Gene and I were left to talk. I made a mental note to replenish the liquor stocks.

Gene selected the conversation topic before I could mention his marriage.

‘Feeling any better about being a dad?’

The word ‘dad’ sounded odd, applied to me. I thought of my own father. I suspected his role in my life when I was a baby had been minimal. My mother had resigned from her teaching job to manage three children while my father worked at the family hardware store. It was a practical, if stereotypical, allocation of the workload. Given that my father shares some of the personality traits that give me the most trouble, it was probably advantageous to maximise the amount of input from my mother.

‘I’ve considered it. I suspect the most useful contribution is to stay out of the way to avoid causing problems.’ This was consistent with the assessment of me given by Lydia during the Bluefin Tuna Incident and in keeping with the medical maxim: First do no harm.

‘You know, you may get away with it. Rosie’s a rusted-on feminist, so philosophically she wants you to wear a skirt, but she also thinks she’s Superwoman. Independence is an Australian female trait. She’ll want to do it all.’ Gene drained his Midori and refilled both glasses. ‘Whatever women say, they’re biologically bonded to the baby in a way we’re not. It won’t even recognise you for the first few months. So don’t worry about that. Look ahead to when it’s a toddler and you can interact.’

This was helpful. I was fortunate to be able to source advice from an experienced father and head of a psychology department. He had more.

‘Forget everything you hear from psychologists. They fetishise parenthood. Make you paranoid you’re doing something wrong. If you hear the word attachment, run a mile.’

This was extremely helpful. Lydia doubtless belonged to the group Gene was describing.

Gene continued. ‘You don’t have any nieces or nephews, right?’

‘Correct.’

‘So you’ve got no real experience with kids.’

‘Only Eugenie and Carl.’ Gene’s children were almost familiar enough to be included in my list of friends, but too old for toddler orientation.

Rosie emerged from her office and walked towards the bedroom, making hand motions which I interpreted as You’ve had enough to drink, both of you, and it’s time to come to bed instead of sharing more interesting information.

Gene started to get up and collapsed back in the chair. ‘Here’s my last bit of advice before I fall over. Watch some kids, watch them play. You’ll see they’re just little adults, only they don’t know all the rules and tricks yet. Nothing to worry about.’

9

Rosie was sitting up in bed when I joined her.

‘Don, before you get undressed—could I ask you a favour?’

‘Of course. As long as it doesn’t require mental or physical coordination.’ Gene’s topping-up of my glass had resulted in an accidental overdose of alcohol.

‘What time does the deli close? The one where you got the smoked mackerel?’

‘I don’t know.’ Why did I need to remain dressed to answer the question?