It's so easy to get carried away by emotion. Perhaps you'll have gathered by now that though I strive desperately to be cool, calm and collected, I am often no such thing. At times, I am somewhat of a drama queen.
For example and totally on topic, when I worked briefly as an au pair for a German family in Schwandorf and was lucky enough to have my own small set of rooms in their massive manor house. The main problem I had with this otherwise ideal situation was spiders. Yes. Spiders. The bane of my existence. I hate to even type the words but there are such things as spiders. You can close you eyes. You can pretend all you like that they don't exist but they do.
Anyway, southern Germany was rife with the hideous creatures. Rife. One night as I lay on my bed writing in my journal (in all likelihood about spiders, I don't remember now), I actually heard a horrifying scuttling sound that alerted me to the fact that there was a spider in my room actually big enough to make a sound when it moved. Being late at night, there was no one I could call for help. This was one giant I would have to face alone. Screwing my courage to the sticking place, (Disclaimer: The part of this sentence referring to courage is a bold-faced lie.), I stood on my bed and screamed. Then picked up the nearest thick book and threw it with all my might, widely missing the spider. It began to move. I began to cry. Being a good Catholic, I also began to pray desperate "Hail Mary's". I threw some shoes. They crashed nowhere near my nemesis. I began to call on God to save me. You'll have to trust me when I say this was not done in a blasphemous way. In a final act of desperation I picked up a lamp, taller than I am, that stood by the side of my bed. Still standing on the bed, I held it aloft like a harpoon and knew this was my moment. In slow motion this huge metal lamp glided through the air and landed, miraculously on the spider. In the aftermath of the monstrous crash, I collapsed in a heap on the bed...sobbing in relief . It was over. Just like that. After an hour of shouting, sobbing, praying, and throwing large objects that didn't belong to me. It was only later that I began to contemplate what the family sleeping above me must have thought of this fiasco. They may well have questioned the sanity of this newly hired au pair girl from the prairies of Canada who they were paying to watch their two year old. After I regained my strength I hopped off my bed, looked in the mirror and began practicing casual shrugs that would hopefully ward off any queries as to what I had been doing in the wee hours of the night.
So really, what I'm trying to say is that with a history like this, who can blame me for being a bit emotional as I wait for our referral call? Who can blame me for feeling like I am slowly going insane? Or for feeling like I can barely get through each day I am so burdened by all these feelings and dreams of the future? Who can blame me for all the frustration, anxiety, fear, joy, and desperate hope I feel while I am waiting to hold my baby in my arms and walk out the door of an old life into a brand new one?