Sydney and I are off to Syracuse for the day (yes, we’re taking our baby bags with us), where he will sit in on an Early Modern course and I’ll settle in with my books at the library cafe, which has reasonably comfortable chairs. I like visiting other universities, and it will get me away from the distractions of home (baby plans, email, naps on the couch) that have made academic work a bit scarce recently.
Yesterday I watched as Sydney and his classmates played softball against the business-school team. They almost won! It was really amusing watching them. Since it’s a co-ed team, half of the players need to be women (no easy feat in an department full of guys), so there were a good number of philosophy girlfriends and wives there. Imagine much ribbing among partners and classmates, some terrible philosophy jokes, and a fair share of mud.
The befuddling visits to the midwife continue, once every week by this point. They’re befuddling because she and I seem to have opposite responses to just about everything. When she exclaims, surprised, “Oh, the feet are way over on your side,” I respond, far from thrilled, “Uh-huh, they’ve been there for awhile, with toes rubbing grooves in my ribs.” And when I ask, “So, there’s been an increase in pains of all stripes recently; is that supposed to happen?” she responds with a delighted “Oh good! The preparations are beginning! That’s a very good thing!” I’m perfectly happy with my experiences with her, but can’t understand why she seems so happy about the very things I find not terribly fun. I’m gathering that I need to respond like the following: “Ow! That hurt! How wonderful!”