HOW TO SURVIVE FIVE CHILDREN E-Book

Paola Amadei

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This is the story of my life as a mother of five children. After graduating in business administration, I began my employment in a large corporation in Germany. However, I soon realized that the hypercompetitive world of business was not for me, and I left for India with a one-way ticket. After being admitted to a master's degree program in environmental management I decided to return. Back at the university I met Luigi and soon after we started a family with the intention of having at least three children. I have always believed that balancing family and work is possible, which is why, except for brief periods following the birth of my children, I’ve never stopped working. I was confident that by relying on babysitters and daycare, I would be able to continue working while still enjoying my children. The narrative follows the arc of my life, with a series of adventures and misadventures with babysitters, live-in nannies, au pairs and any kind of help, as well as professional sacrifices, existential and marriage crises and the upheaval of the birth of our fifth child when the others had already grown up. I write about how I handled situations that many parents face, such as finding the right person to entrust your children to or deciding between in home childcare and nursery school. I tried to enjoy every moment with my children, even if I was often too focused on surviving to heed all of their requirements. I made certain decisions that I now regret. Some questions I still have: Would it have been better if I had set aside my career and devoted myself entirely to my children? Would they and I have been happier? I still don't have a final answer. Nonetheless, it was a fantastic journey. I would do it again at any time, without any doubt.

Leseprobe

Paola Amadei

HOW TO SURVIVE FIVE CHILDREN

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Preface

Fresh pineapple for breakfast

Another step forward towards a new life

The classmate

Engaged or not?

Across Europe

It's getting serious

Marriage yes or no?

First babysitter and first child

Better the babysitter or the nursery school?

Sorrow and joy

A babysitter for every new birth

Enlarging the family?

A simple parenthesis

Unexplained symptoms

Fourth positive test

Babysitter or nanny?

The Perfect Nanny's Manual

Childbirth without notice

The au pair

The ideal nanny... for Daddy

Family patterns

Finally, the ideal nanny

Everything will be OK! Will everything be good?

I can handle it myself

An unexpected escape

Adapting the house

Slimming effect

Concerning symptoms once more

Changes

Continuing attrition

A life begins and another one ends

Mum or grandma?

A peaceful New Year's Eve at home

Four babysitters for one baby

Stay or leave?

Attempts at resistance

A new challenge

Epilogue

Impressum

Paola Amadei

HOW TO SURVIVE

FIVE CHILDREN

Preface

This is the story of my life as a mother of five children. After graduating in business administration, I began my employment in a large corporation in Germany. However, I soon realized that the hypercompetitive world of business was not for me, and I left for India with a one-way ticket.

After being admitted to a master's degree program in environmental management I decided to return. Back at the university I met Luigi and soon after we started a family with the intention of having at least three children. I have always believed that balancing family and work is possible, which is why, except for brief periods following the birth of my children, I’ve never stopped working. I was confident that by relying on babysitters and daycare, I would be able to continue working while still enjoying my children.

The narrative follows the arc of my life, with a series of adventures and misadventures with babysitters, live-in nannies, au pairs and any kind of help, as well as professional sacrifices, existential and marriage crises and the upheaval of the birth of our fifth child when the others had already grown up.

I write about how I handled situations that many parents face, such as finding the right person to entrust your children to or deciding between in home childcare and nursery school.

I tried to enjoy every moment with my children, even if I was often too focused on surviving to heed all of their requirements. I made certain decisions that I now regret. Some questions I still have: Would it have been better if I had set aside my career and devoted myself entirely to my children? Would they and I have been happier? I still don't have a final answer.

Nonetheless, it was a fantastic journey. I would do it again at any time, without any doubt.

Fresh pineapple for breakfast

I need to change my life; I don't like this job; it's not for me; I need to go. My body has recently been sending me strong indications that it no longer tolerates this life, with thyroid crises and extreme tachycardias.

How strange that I became aware of it in a circumstance that anyone else would have thought enviable. I was in one of Freiburg's top hotels with my KPMG Germany team, where we were auditing the financial accounts of a big insurance business. I was irritated that morning since there was no fresh pineapple for breakfast. To console myself, I pounced on the wonderful butter croissants in true French fashion. I ate five of them in a fit of hunger and annoyance. Sure, I'd gotten up early and done my morning run. I was prepared for a lengthy day of accounting and balance sheet work. Even after dinner, as I strolled through the centre with my colleagues looking towards the spire of the cathedral, the Freiburger Münster, which stood out against the cobalt blue of a beautiful spring evening, that thought occasionally buzzed in my head.

When I returned to Cologne at the end of the week, I knew what I had to do: I wanted something completely different in my life, if only for a while. In more than two years of working in Germany I had saved enough money to support myself for a few months as I pondered my future. I wanted to go far away and have new experiences. Volunteering, that would be it, devoting myself to others for a period of time would have helped me focus not just on the work I wanted to pursue, but also on the lifestyle I desired. I didn't want to undertake a job that required me to work more than fifty hours per week, to travel for six months of the year, sleeping in luxury hotels, being served and worshipped to the point of changing my mood if there was no fresh pineapple for breakfast.

Of course, I enjoyed life, I had travelled throughout northern Europe, living in Cologne was more than pleasant, I had many friends with whom I went to Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam on weekends, and London was less than an hour away by plane. If I stayed at home, we went to visit modern and contemporary art shows in Cologne, which is one of Europe's most important centres, or we spent the evenings in the beer gardens. But, there was a catch: I wanted to see more of life.

As a result, I began contacting development cooperation organisations. However, I quickly realised that it was not a practical option, as I didn’t have any experience in the field. Before sending you to the nations where they operated, organisations pretended at least a six-month training session. But I wanted to leave as soon as possible. This is how I am: if I get an urge that leads me to make an existential decision, I have to act on it right away; I can't wait.

I wrote to the Calcutta Missionaries of Charity Sisters. The volunteer manager responded, "Come on down, we're waiting for you at 54th A." J. Chandra Bose Road. I resigned and left for Calcutta in June 1993. I'd freak out if my daughter did something like this nowadays. My parents, on the other hand, accepted my decision with the typical serenity dictated by unlimited trust in me and my ability to successfully manage my existence. On the other hand, I was 26 years old, had brilliantly graduated in Business Administration almost three years earlier, and I lived fifteen hundred kilometres away from them, who had at the time purchased a farm in Tuscany and spent more and more time cultivating vines and olive trees there than in Bolzano, our hometown.

Arriving in Calcutta around eleven o'clock at night is not a good choice for a single girl. Knowing this, I planned to spend the night at the airport before heading into town the next day. But I was mobbed by rude taxi drivers who offered me a ride right away. Fortunately, two angels came to my aid, two huge Italian boys in whose company I was able to face my first days there in a more secure manner.

We had no intention of diving headfirst into the experience of volunteering, so we spent the first few days exploring the city, staying in a lovely hostel that was clean but plagued with big cockroaches. When we finally decided to go to the Mother House (the headquarters where Mother Teresa lived), Sister Shanti, the head of the volunteers, immediately whipped us into shape: Holy Mass at six a.m., followed by a breakfast of tea, a really yummy chunky toasted bread and bananas. Everyone then proceeded to work, some at the dispensary, others at the orphanage, some with the old, and yet others at the leper colony. Everyone returned to the Mother House at six o'clock in the evening for the Rosary, and after dinner, we all went to bed. I found lodging with other girls, and although I didn't want to follow prayer commitments at first, I soon realised that this was the necessary spiritual nutrition to face the day in contact with such a terrible reality.

On the other side, there was complete freedom to live the spiritual experience. People of various faiths, Buddhists who meditated in the lotus position, Japanese Shintoists, and local Hindus participated in the moments of prayer. We were all there together, unified by the compassion that had drawn everyone to that experience. And Mother Teresa's presence, the words of encouragement she directed to us every morning before everyone left to face their commitment was the storyline that tied everything together.

Not even two weeks passed before I risked putting a stop to the experience I was having: somebody stole my rucksack, with my wallet, money, and, most importantly, my passport. I wasn't too concerned because I had travellers checks in my room.

I went to the consulate hoping that they would be able to issue a replacement passport for me, or at the very least a sheet or shred of paper with which to authenticate my identification and subsequently allow me to return to Italy. The consul was furious with me, telling me that she couldn't provide me any new paperwork, that without a passport, they may arrest and rape me in prison, and that the only thing she could do was deport me immediately, on the first plane. I declined the generous offer and returned disconsolate to the hostel. What should I do? I couldn't accept such a defeat, and more importantly, I didn't have a plan B. I needed that time to reflect on my life and figure out what I wanted to do with my future. I couldn't possibly return after only two weeks!

I went to the orphanage the next day, acting as if nothing had happened. Taking care of the children, having them play, sing, and experience a few minutes of joy and excitement, helped me to push aside the sad thoughts for a while.

We prepared Shaila for her departure that day. She was five years old and had two big dark eyes that twinkled like two stars. Her adoptive parents had flown in from Belgium to take her with them, and she couldn't wait to meet them. She was as happy as ever since she knew she was going to be dressed up like a little princess and that we had planned a farewell party where she would be the centre of attention. I gripped her so closely that I could feel her thin and delicate little body, her shoulder blades. She was already a small woman. At her age, she looked after the babies, and she had favourites among the crawlers. She was moved to say farewell to them, but she immediately went joyfully and confidently into her new life.

They summoned me in the afternoon and told me to go to the Mother House right away. Oh my, will the console come and take me back to Italy? When I came, Sister Shanti came up to me immediately and said, "Come quickly, the Mother wants to talk to you." And she escorted me upstairs. Mother Teresa smiled at me as we passed through the long corridor between the chapel and her chamber. She had my passport in her hand and kindly handed it to me. It had been thrown in the Mother House mailbox. "Hand it over to Her." What do you mean, to whom should I deliver it now that I have it again?!? "Offer it to Our Lady; she is the one who returned it to you." Okay, I understand. I went to pray for a few minutes in front of the Holy Mary statue. Hurray! I could stay. How long until? I had not set the return date on the plane ticket.

I resumed my rhythms as a volunteer, and I discovered that I really liked working at the dispensary, a sort of street clinic where people came to have their wounds healed, their cuts cleaned of worms, and to get an initial assessment of any kind of symptom. There, I made friends with Carolina, a Madrid colleague who knew a little more about nursing than me and taught me a few things.

Sister Shanti called us one day and asked if she might send us to Shanti Nagar, a leper colony operated by the Missionaries of Charity in the middle of the forest. You had to take the train to Asansol, then a bus, and lastly a tiny route through the trees to get there.

It truly was a very peaceful place, a nearly self-sufficient centre complete with vegetable gardens, harvests, and poultry and pig farms. There were lepers of all ages, as well as entire families, parents and children in all stages of the disease. The stiffened limbs were soaked in liquid wax to restore mobility, and a little physiotherapy could be performed, which provides significant benefits to the patients as they await the treatment. Then there were the blisters to heal.

In the afternoons, we took the kids on lengthy walks to the vast lakes in the Himalayan foothills or helped out in the vegetable gardens.

How much my prior life was far away, materially, mentally, and ideally.

Another step forward towards a new life

A few days after coming to Calcutta, Sister Shanti addressed me with grave seriousness: you must contact your family in Italy immediately, your father called late yesterday evening. He woke up the Mother because the home phone is switched to her personal phone, which she keeps in her room after eight o'clock at night.

I had a serious thought and went straight to an international phone centre. My father responded in a cheery tone. He had some excellent news for me: I had been accepted to the master's degree programme in environmental management for which I had applied just before leaving.

It was a demanding multidisciplinary programme offered to economists, engineers, jurists, medics, and scientists from various disciplines that took place in fifteen universities across Europe. A common module to be taken at one of four different universities, as well as a semester of specialisation, to develop future environmental experts.

I had applied because I was fascinated by environmental issues, but candidates were expected to have a minimum of expertise in the subject, which I lacked. I never dreamed I'd be accepted. It was fantastic news, the start of a new professional future and a new life. No more careerism, no more yuppie life, the opportunity to work in an alternative environment of individuals who care about the planet's future.

I had a month after returning from India to choose where I would attend the first module and arrange lodging. Brussels was the only destination where instruction was given in French rather than English, and I am fluent in German, English, and Spanish but not French. What about the city of Trier? No, not Germany once more. Athens? Yes, a complete immersion in Hellenistic culture would be amazing, but the Polytechnic of Turin fascinates me more, with its scientific aura, and my ambition motivates me to pick a prestigious environment. I've opted to go to Turin, so I'll stay in Italy for a few more months before embarking on new adventures. Yes, because I clearly don't imagine I'll stop there; perhaps I'll move to America or somewhere else...

I phone my cousins in Turin as soon as I arrive in Italy to inform them that I will be visiting them soon. They are from Mantua, as is the rest of my father's family, but migrated to Turin for business a while ago. They have a teenage son and a spacious and lovely home with a yard. They are wonderful persons, open-hearted and welcoming. Right away they invite me to stay with them, since they have a separate room for me. I gratefully accept.

Friday, October 15th. I go to the Polytechnic to learn more about my master's class. We are twenty-five people of various nationalities, ranging from Norway to Spain, from Greece to Ireland. We have a slightly cranky Serbian tutor, yet an immediately joyful and nice mood develops amongst us. We are all excited to get to know one another, share an educational experience, and a similar interest. The course will begin the following week. They provide us the programme, and we will have various lecturers from institutions all around Europe for each subject. The prospect is exciting.

We only have four Italians among us, yet my xenophile tendencies force me to prefer the company of foreigners.

Furthermore, that engineer from Milan who arrives in a coat and tie, carrying a briefcase and wearing smart-ass glasses is simply intolerable! Keep your distance. Who does he believe he is? It's a shame because he's a nice guy. Even so, he has already got eyes on the Norwegian girl. Tone, the typical Scandinavian Barbie favoured by Italians!

Laura from Madrid and Francesca, a very blond and very intellectual Englishwoman, become my friends. They share an apartment and frequently invite me to dinner. They save me from Charles and Michael's pitfalls with a lot of laughing and just as much beer.

The classmate

On weekends, I frequently visit my family in Tuscany and enjoy the peaceful country life. I want to be close to my parents; I am very close to my family, and we have always shared each other's problems. There are also my brothers at this time, one of them in a life crisis and the other set to leave for the United States to pursue his piano studies. As we look forward to our future together, we feel even more unified.

In this way, though, I am unable to join in the weekend events organised by my classmates. Luigi, the engineer from Milan is quite active in organising interesting tours and treks. He is a mountain enthusiast who frequently organises excursions to the magnificent Piedmont and Aosta Valley mountains. My friends tell me about the places he takes them with tremendous excitement. They hold him in high regard, unlike me, who is still suspicious. Well, his love of the mountains might be enough to redeem him, at least in part. Perhaps he isn't such a snob. Meanwhile, the Norwegian girl turned him down. She is already engaged. I can let him have coffee with me during the morning break.

I'm beginning to believe he's better than I thought he was. He is pleasant and approachable. He loses his cool and invites me to dinner in his flat, or rather, their flat, which he shares with the Dutchman Ernst and the German Michael. I'd gladly go; they're a close-knit and easy-going group, and the evening will undoubtedly be enjoyable, with nice food and wine. An interesting point. But here's the unexpected: I had entirely forgotten about my cousins' son's eighteenth birthday. They want me to be there as well, and I can't miss it. I have to tell Luigi, I have to call him, but he comes before me and calls to alert me of a schedule change. I tell him uncomfortably that I can't go, without adequately apologising, without fully explaining the issue to him, and, most importantly, without letting him know how much I’d love to spend an evening with him. In a nutshell, he takes it badly, is rightfully offended, and treats me coldly. The Christmas holidays are only a few days away, and I try to rectify it, explain myself, but he isn't convinced. However, I don't believe he bears a grudge after we say our goodbyes. At least, I hope so, because I'm having a little thought about him in the meantime. Okay, I'll keep an eye on how this little idea evolves over the holidays. Also, because these holidays promise to be intense: my brother Giuse's fiancée has asked us all to Pescara.

Strange Christmas, spent with folks we barely know; friendly yet formal. We must abandon our family customs, the father and mother who put the gifts in the living room the night before, and on the morning of the twenty-fifth, we all gathered in front of the door in order of age, and on three, the youngest opened and hurried inside to unwrap. We had continued this ritual even after we had grown up.

Giuse pulls me aside shortly before the solemn Christmas dinner and says, "Cristina and I have decided to get married; we want to make the announcement during Christmas lunch." You've made the decision to marry? But you've only been engaged for a little over a year, you're both still in school, and you don't have a job or a place to live. Moreover, you're off to the United States for your studies. "Exactly, so she joins me. What do you expect the parents to say?" They will be enthusiastic, no doubt! They will have to finance your marriage and, moreover, your cohabitation for at least a couple of years. Yes, these are the ideal conditions for getting married! But the two lovebirds have no intention of changing their minds, so the happy announcement is delivered between scrippelle (crepes with savoury filling) and turkey roulade. My mother has a fixed smile on her face and says nothing, and my father almost frowns at the parrozzo (cake with almonds and chocolate) but discreetly replies: okay, let's see.

The girlfriend’s family, on the other hand, have their bullets ready; apparently, they were not caught off guard like us, and they boldly shoot dates, specifics, and even discuss the bride's outfit. Fortunately, the next day we go back to Tuscany, escaping the embarrassing situation.

When I return to Turin, I extensively talk about it with Luigi during a coffee break. We've gained confidence. He is not surprised; his younger brother married young and has a little son. But they both have jobs: he leads his father's company, one of Brianza's several veneer factories, and his wife is a biomedical engineer. Above all, they have a home. As it was once, these are the conditions for starting a family: a job and a home.

In any case, Giuse and Cristina's relationship will soon end, he will undergo a year of study in the United States alone, and upon his return, during a concert tour in Poland, he will meet Ela, my wonderful and adored sister-in-law, from whom he will have four children.

Engaged or not?

Luigi and I are getting closer and closer; we are now a regular couple during coffee and lunch breaks, and there are already whispers in class. We often go running together at Parco del Valentino together. I examine him and scan him thoroughly: he is too thin, despite the fact that his body has been well moulded by the intensive mountain activity. I take a very rational approach: he must pass a series of tests before he can persuade me. But suddenly the feeling takes over.

He invites me to dinner one evening, having mastered his phobia of being blown off. Pasta with pesto and a huge salad, a simple yet satisfying menu that includes the essentials for survival. His flatmates leave us alone in the living room after dinner, and we share our first kiss in front of the window, gazing out at the gorgeous Turin winter sky. Yes, I realise there could be a better setting for the first kiss....

The semester's end is quickly approaching. The first module will be completed by the end of the first week of February, and the second will begin in early March. By then, I'll be in Tilburg, Holland, and Luigi will be at the EU Joint Research Centre on Lake Maggiore, 1000 km distant.

He is a huge opera fan and offers me an evening at La Scala. I prefer symphonic music, but the programme is exciting and includes the entire weekend: after the concert, we'll sleep at his house in Mariano, a small town close to the Como Lake, and then head to the mountains on Sunday. An evening at La Scala is an important gift. We are sitting in one of the historic boxes watching Cinderella. He made a reservation for a ballet in order to accomplish my dream. He is aware of my passion for ballet. I told him that I attended a dance school intensely for many years as a young girl. I'm thrilled he does this for me because it confirms that I'm becoming more important to him, and I’m glad of that.

I'm looking forward to seeing this famous Brianza after the show. Despite spending years in university in Milan, I've never visited. They are said to be magnificent settings, with hills, parks, lakes, mansions and historic villas where the aristocrats retired for the summer.

As we leave the lights of Milan behind us, we become further submerged in darkness. Help, where is he taking me? I'm nervous, but he distracts me with talking about his enthusiasm for opera, which he discovered while working in Los Angeles for a long time.

Finally, we arrive in front of a villa's gate. Because I don't see any lights, it must be in the suburbs. The company sign is right in front of it. He grew up here, playing in the fields beyond his house, which have now been reduced by the growth of cottages. We walk in and silently ascend the marble staircase to the higher floor, where the bedrooms are. His parents are obviously now asleep; I'll see them the next day. His mother made prepare for me the room of one of Luigi’s four sisters. When I enter the room, I get that anxious sensation again, so much so that I must draw up the shutters and open the window. I'm not sure why, but this place intimidates me, even though the house is lovely. I'll find out why in the coming years.

The next morning, he comes to wake me up. You always get up early to go to the mountains. His mother prepared our breakfast. She is a lovely woman who is still beautiful at an age of almost sixty. We have a pleasant conversation; she has a slight Venetian accent and the usual affability of those parts.

And then off to the mountains surrounding the Como Lake. We move fast up the route; we are both trained mountaineers, and the mountain is our great passion that will always bind us together.

Once at the top we sit on the grass and take in the vista. Lake Como seems like a postcard from up here, with deep blue waters and a backdrop of snow-covered Alps, a wonder that calms my nerves. "It's a shame you're leaving for Holland so soon." Dot. You may tell me, "My beloved, I will mount my white horse and ride across Europe to see you." Perhaps he is still not persuaded to be truly interested in me.

The end of the semester is approaching, and we're trying to make more occasions to get together with our classmates before we part ways. We all went out to dinner one evening in Porta Palazzo, Turin's district that houses Europe's largest open-air market and also serves as a nightlife area in the evening. He's dressed elegantly in a mustard-coloured jumper and has combed his hair back with plenty of gel. He clearly wishes to impress me. Except his hair is wild and quickly flies back, producing a wing or shark fin effect, which is really seductive. We after dinner go to the banks of the Po River which are full of trendy clubs and have a lot of fun. it's a lovely evening, but we're not alone; there's no intimacy, just a kiss when he brings me home.

Antonietta, my cousin, gives me a delightful proposal: invite the entire class to their home for the departure celebration. She will handle all of the appetisers and buffet dishes and will prepare a spectacular meal of banquet of delicacies. They are going out to dinner and will stay out all evening, but before leaving they will welcome friends, they want to meet my classmates, and most importantly they want to see Luigi. He is polite, friendly, and affable; his manners make a good impression, and he's a nice guy. The evening is a success, and everyone is enthusiastic. I also prepared a small gift for Luigi, as it is also his birthday. On February 3, 1994, he will be thirty-three years old.

As the time to say farewell and split ways approaches, Luigi suggests taking another brief vacation together, three days on skis in the Dolomites, in Val Badia. At first it seems that some six or eight of us participate. Before that, I'd like to spend a few more days in Tuscany with my family. Meanwhile, the others hold back, deciding to forego the holiday in order to have more time to prepare for the next period of study. As a result, it's just me and him.

Returning from Tuscany, we meet in Bolzano, where I take my skis and boots before heading to the mountains. The conditions are ideal: plenty of snow and beautiful weather. We'll be staying in a guesthouse near La Villa's slopes. We arrive in the late afternoon, unpack, and then go out to dinner. I place my order and then go to the toilet for a moment. Suddenly a thought rushed over me: what if I returned to the table right now and he tells me he's reconsidered his feelings, that he's not convinced, that he doesn't want to commit himself? It's an incredible sixth sense: it’s exactly what happens. A door slammed in the face. However, I am not the sort to create drama. So, what do we do now? "If you want, we can stay here anyway; we ski and have a good time as friends." Agree.

We decide to do the Sella Ronda the next day, a very scenic ski route around the Sella Mountain group. However, the atmosphere during dinner is heavy, not like when there is a desire to tell one other, to get to know each other better. We decide to leave the next day. I'll take the train from Bolzano and will stop in Cologne before arriving in Tilburg. Goodbye.

Across Europe

Tilburg. The programme begins in early March, but I arrive a week early. I'd like to have enough time to settle in. Our university tutors are extremely organised and efficient. When we arrive, arrangements are already made for all of us foreign students. I am allocated to a three-story house and a family of Indonesian descent. The entire third level, a huge room with sloping ceilings, is all for me. Wonderful. They advise me to buy a used bicycle. It is mandatory in Holland. It takes me twenty minutes cycling along the canals to get to the university. Even though it's still bitterly chilly outside, it is very impressive. A light chilly mist wafts across the canals early in the morning. We are still far from the season when the fields are carpeted in a thousand different colours of flowers.

The university campus is quite cutting-edge. I've been given an email address for the first time in my life. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it because I don't know anyone who has one with whom I could communicate, but it feels like the start of a new age.

The people that are hosting me are very friendly and welcoming. The children are now adults who live on their own. We're the only ones in the house. When I return home from class, I'm frequently invited to dinner at five o'clock in the afternoon. They share with me a delicious satay made by the lady. Chicken skewers with peanut sauce are a typical Indonesian meal. Even though I've never loved meat, I enjoy it, and Edmond and Linda are delightful to converse with. They are really curious and ask me a lot of questions about Italy and my life. I happily admit that they are adorable. So, with a little sadness, I tell them about Luigi.

Linda greets me with excitement one day: a present has arrived for me. It comes from Luigi and includes a gorgeous burgundy hardback notebook, an audio cassette (he loved to listen to music at the time), and a letter in which he tells me, in an affectionate friendship tone, that he has written an introduction to the Opera for me.

He has written a summary of all most renowned compositions in his own hand, including the words of the best-known arias that I can hear on the tape. I'm moved and amazed that he could devote so much time to producing something so lovely for me, that he wanted to share his tremendous passion for opera with me in this way. I borrow Linda's tape recorder and immerse myself in the enchanted world of music.

I call him, clearly only after carefully listening to all of the arias in order to avoid appearing ignorant and to better communicate my enthusiasm. We have a pleasant conversation. I tell him about my Dutch life, and he tells me about his amazing experience in Ispra, on Lake Maggiore. The Joint Research Centre is the European Union's primary scientific service. There are scholars from all over Europe, and it is a wonderful site on the lake's eastern coast, surrounded by greenery.

He has settled in Angera, the village of the famed Rocca, a mediaeval castle perched on a rocky ledge overlooking the sea. He shares the apartment with Anne-Marie, our extremely nice Irish companion from Turin; the youngest of the bunch, she served as a sort of mascot. I'm not jealous. Anne-Marie is gorgeous, but I doubt she would pique his curiosity.

He asks about my plans, and I tell him I'm heading to my parents' house in Tuscany for Easter. "I'll call you when you arrive." Okay.

When I eventually arrive at my parents' house in early April, the Tuscan countryside appears even more gorgeous in comparison to the still-frozen landscapes of Holland. It doesn't seem real to me that I can go for lengthy walks across fields that are green this time of year, rather than ochre as in the summer, with a vivid blue sky and the sea in the distance. We have our unforgettable, never-ending conversations with mum, dad, and my brothers as we walk up and down the hills at the foot of Massa Marittima, through woods of holm oaks and strawberry trees.

Luigi calls as promised and suggests we meet for a day in Portofino: "I saw on the map, it's about halfway." I actually am a little further away than he is, but seeing Portofino is absolutely worthwhile. Besides that, I'm curious to see what he does next. I am drawn to him, but I now consider him to be untrustworthy, and I would prefer not to have any illusions.

I leave early in the morning; the trip takes about three hours, and I must travel along the Tyrrhenian coast. I'm glad to see him again. We hug in a friendly way. He's already planned the day's itinerary: a trip to the Abbey of San Fruttuoso, a wonderful spot accessible only by sea or a trail that spans the Mediterranean scrub with breathtaking vistas.

But neither of us is in the mood for romance, possibly because we are in the midst of a rapprochement phase following a split, me cautious and him careful not to risk another perilous escape forward. For the remainder, it was an almost ideal day: the pleasant weather, the walk on the path, the sea horizon, bare feet on the sand, a snack in an outdoor café, and pleasant conversations. When it's time to say good-by, he says to me, "Maybe I'll come and see you. I won't make any promises, but there is talk of organising a group trip to meet up with our Turin pals."

I return to Tilburg, and the lessons resume. Another month and a half and the semester will be over, and I have to do an internship and write a paper. In Turin, a professor from Milan came to give us lessons, and he invited me to contact him when it was time to organise myself for the course's final activities, proposing that I participate in a research project at the institute for which he worked, the IEFE (Institut of Economics of Energy Sources, which later became "Institute for Energy and the Environment" when research activities in the field of environmental economics began to be developed). The idea of devoting myself to research appeals to me, and I decide to send him an email shortly after my return to Tilburg.

After a few days, I check to see if he has responded, and I find two emails: one from the professor confirming the possibility of conducting the internship and term paper with him, and one from me. Hooray! I'm heading back to Milan! I've always liked this city and am thrilled to have the opportunity to return, even if I haven't ruled out the possibility of further professional experiences abroad in the future.

But before I respond, I'd like to see who the other email is from; it has a really weird address, an unreadable sequence of letters. When I open it, though, I notice that it is written in Italian and is signed Luigi. He informs me that they have organised the trip and will arrive in two cars from Ispra. I'm happy, but I don't tell the others about it; instead, our comrades will inform them. Within a short time, everyone knew, and the most enterprising of us organised a welcoming programme, including dinners, parties, and a weekend on a sailing boat on the Ijsselmeer, a coastal inlet divided from the North Sea by a dam. We rent a magnificent twenty-eight-seater sailing ship to sail this inland sea with a skipper, docking in traditional marinas to visit fairy-tale villages. I'm quite excited: will I really get to do all of this with Luigi? Yes, but who knows what will happen with him; it could all be a giant delusion.

However, when he arrives, it is evident that he was eager to see me again. We begin as an engaged couple on its first vacation together. Two mattresses on the floor beneath the attic window, looking out at the sky.

Then we leave on the cruise, but we don't have a cabin for two; we're arranged four by four. It's so hilarious! We take turns helping out on board operations during the day, and in the evening, we cook according to our nations of origin: Italian and Greek, Spanish and French, and Nordic.

The Scandinavians party hard on the last night. It starts with a cocktail made with liquorice liqueur, dark and served in a skull, from which we all drink in turn, as if it were an initiation rite. Then there's a fantastic reindeer stew. All washed down with drinks, a lot of spirits. We go for a walk in the dock after dinner to sober up, Luigi and I hugging one other to support each other. We were almost detained for creating too much noise.

It's time to say goodbye after the cruise, but we won't be separated for long. In a few weeks, the semester will be over, and I'll be in Milan, while he'll be in Ispra for the internship, which is approximately an hour away by train. I've already located housing near the university. A room in a shared flat with three other girls.

In comparison to the ultra-competitive environment I was used to, the academic atmosphere is a dream for me. Not that there isn't some anxiety during the times when research must be submitted, but I feel like I'm in the family, or in that slightly goliardic student atmosphere.

Luigi and I see each other a lot. We spend our weekends together, and I frequently visit Angera in the evening. The next morning, he drives me to the station where I take the train to Milan. I'm content, but there's something that troubles me. Even though he's really kind and helpful, he usually appears a little disengaged to me.

When my mother becomes ill and needs a small surgery, he offers to accompany me to Tuscany to see her and is really friendly to my family. We spend fantastic times together: a couple weekends in Bolzano going to the Dolomites; in July, we fly to Rome for her friends' wedding, then to Verona to watch the opera Lucia di Lammermoore, hosted by my dearest friend Maria Luisa. But my intuition is correct: he's not completely sure, not so much about me as about wanting to engage with someone. This frightens him. The males, my God!

I don't want to remain in Milan in August, it’s too hot. I have to finish my thesis, but I better go to Tuscany for two weeks. In the old thick-walled house, I will work better. He, too, needs to work, but comes to visit me for a weekend: two wonderful days of swimming at Punta Ala. I'm too busy with work to consider his concerns about our relationship, and I'm enjoying the moment.

When I return to Milan, though, things become more serious. I get the distinct impression that he doesn't care if he sees me or not; he treats me like a friend, or rather an acquaintance, kind but detached. This situation has caused me a lot of pain in recent months, so I've decided to take a break and think carefully about what this relationship means to me and to him. I phone him and explain my position, telling him that we won't see each other for a while, a pause for thinking.

The next evening, he phones me back and tells me that he can't stay without seeing me and that he wants to come to Milan right away. Okay, I'll let it catch up with me, and then we'll discuss. We go out to dinner, we chat, he says yes, he loves me, he wants to be with me, but doesn’t say anything like: I'm sorry, I want your forgiveness for causing you pain. No promises, nothing. But my instinctive reaction at the time is that he is struggling with himself to keep me because he wants me so badly. He stays over.

It's getting serious

In early September I've already turned in my thesis. While waiting for the final exam I decide to spend a week with my parents in Tuscany: it's grape harvest time, and there are five hectares of vineyards to harvest. I spend very peaceful days in nature, assisting my mother in preparing lunch and setting the table for the many people that come to help with the harvest. Strangely, I have a sense of underlying restlessness and am rather irritable.

Back in Milan I'm hard at work planning the trip to Brussels for the thesis discussion and the end of the study programme. Furthermore, the professor assigned me a little study project on waste collection methods. We want to examine in particular the German systems on the field, and I can help because I grew up in Bolzano and know German very well. So, after the graduation ceremony in Brussels, I'll spend a few days in Germany studying the cases of Hamburg and Bremen. I have a lot of appointments to make and make reservations for the travel and the hotels. I'm really busy. Is this why the cycle is running late? After a week, I decide to take the pregnancy test to eliminate this nagging worry. Then, in the late afternoon, I catch the train from Luigi to Angera. He arrives at the station to pick me up as usual.

"Everything is fine?"

I'm a week late.

"Well, it'll be the stress of this time..."

I took the test.

There is no need to state that the test is positive. I start crying because I had too much tension these days. He attempts to console me, but he is just as upset as I am. He asks me if I want us to get married. Get married? I haven't thought about it at all, I'm already absolutely astonished by the prospect of having a child, and I should even consider getting married!?! A wedding, just what I need now to calm down and regain a semblance of inner balance. I can't handle two upheavals at once, please. Perhaps after I have the baby.

We decide to put marriage on hold for the time being in order to focus on welcoming this little new life, and to live day by day. Perhaps we should consider moving in together, but for the time being, we prefer not to think about it and will make our decision later. The initial months of pregnancy pass easily, apart from the sickness, particularly when I’m travelling.

We spend thrilling days in Brussels, with the graduation ceremony and the mega-party for the end of the program. Back in Milan Luigi goes with me to a pregnancy clinic in Milan for an initial check-up. It's the end of October, and I’m already six weeks pregnant. The ultrasound shows an already well-formed sprog, with a big head and a little heart that beats strongly. We are overjoyed; I have always adored children, and Luigi has always wished having more than one too. At least on this point, we agree.

It's time to inform our families. I'll go to Tuscany for a few days, and in the meantime, he will tell his parents. I discuss it first with my father, with whom I have a special understanding, but it's also a tactic: I ask him for suggestions on how to tell my mother, so he can focus on this and overcome the shock. He tells me to prepare her by telling her that Luigi and I are thinking about getting married and then getting right to the point and announcing that I'm pregnant. That’s what I do: I tell her that we've discussed getting married, possibly next summer. She looks at me strangely since she knows I was on the verge of breaking up with him not long ago. Then, when I finally tell her I'm pregnant, things add up in her head. She is moved when I tell her not to worry because the child already has a guardian angel.

Later, when we gather at the table, I also tell my brothers about it and they're excited and enthusiastic about being uncles. Only my mother is concerned; she tells me that she would prefer for me to marry as soon as possible, rather than with a baby in a cradle. Luigi also tells me over the phone that his father has prioritised him over his responsibilities: he wants him to marry. In the end they persuade us.

Luigi tells me he wants to marry at Massa Marittima, in the magnificent Romanesque cathedral, a truly suggestive site. We would prefer to hold the ceremony on Sunday, January 8th, the same day my parents married, but that is not possible. On Saturday seven, the priest proposes to us.

All that remains is to organise everything. A wedding in two months is quite a challenge. While my parents handle the restaurant and photographer, I must provide for the favours, my outfit, and the invites. I need to travel to Bolzano. There is a designer there who creates simple wedding gowns I've long admired. I'd like it to be short, just below the knees, and without a train. An essential dress but of excellent heavy silk, given that it is winter. And over it a lovely three-quarter coat with a silk scarf. Luigi must surely consider the bouquet. I obtain his guest list and address the envelopes. We intend to invite over a hundred people.

And then there's the matter of furnishing the apartment. Yes, because we'll be living in Mariano. Luigi absolutely doesn’t want to live in Milan. Furthermore, his father had a house built for his children, and Luigi has his own quite huge flat. I would have loved to stay in Ispra, because he now works full-time at the Joint Research Centre and has settled there. I like the international atmosphere, and our son could attend the JRC's internal nursery school. It would be ideal for my requirements, but Luigi claims it makes no sense for him to pay rent when he owns an apartment. Sigh. I'm not thrilled about moving to Mariano, but I'm confident it won't be for long. We shall travel abroad again sooner or later. We are still young, and we both work in sectors that could lead to us having wide-ranging experiences in the future. I'm hoping for the best.

I'm at the institute all day, working until seven o'clock at night. Despite my pregnancy, they want me there, and they make me an extremely appealing offer: to work in the energy and environmental policy observatory, an area that is currently governed by the EU.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---