Several months ago I applied to work as an au pair in Italy for the summer, and soon after learned of my acceptance by the au pair agency. My desire to spend a summer al’Italia had been brewing for some time now, so that my Italian becomes more than just conversational, and to experience
il bel paese in the midst of its most beautiful season. Working as an au pair was the most cost-effective option; one in which I am forced to speak Italian and make my way here as more than just a tourist. In exchange for 30 hours per week of babysitting, I get room and board in an apartment in the center of Rome, plus a modest stipend of 100 euros/week and transit within the city.
It sounds like a dream job, no? Yes, and no. The family is accommodating and friendly, both eager to help me with my Italian and practice their English. There are two small children: a girl of four and a baby boy of seven months. Both the mother and father work in the father’s law office, which is on the same floor as our apartment; in case of a problem or emergency, I don’t need to go far. But despite almost 15 years of babysitting, multiple years lifeguarding and teaching swim lessons, and thousands of hours teaching and tutoring English, French, math, CCD and other subjects to children, I feel a little unprepared for the stress that accompanies taking care of a seven month-old baby! When he is not (and sometimes when he is) drinking, eating, pooping, sleeping, riding in the stroller or playing with something sufficiently distracting, he is crying. Often wailing, seldom whimpering.
I understand the psychology behind it. At this point in time, crying is the baby's only means of communication. But sometimes I look at his scrunched up little face mid-outburst – at once heart-wrenching and unbelievable adorable - and think: what is so difficult in the life of treasured bambino named Federico?
Baby Federico’s sister, Ginevra, was initially hesitant with me. She is opening up more and more each day. By now, the start of my second week, she has really come to life, and sometimes requires more attention than her brother.
It is surprisingly difficult to understand the Italian of a little girl, as she speaks in detailed run-on sentences, with a vocabulary that I envy. (Someday...maybe someday soon, I keep telling myself.) It is a humbling experience, speaking to a four year-old and receiving a funny look in return because she can’t quite decipher my convoluted Italian. I imagine things come out along the lines of:
-“Ginevra, now I will go together to the Park Borghese to play with your friends of the school”
or
-“I’m sorry, Mamma cannot come now to you at the room. She has the large invited ones of dinner that must to speak to. In the night, we see again.”
