Rocco was really big into sign language for awhile but recently he’s traded in his signs for words, most of which are so far off from the real words (for example, “star” is “baba” and “shoe” is “hey”) that I’m pretty sure the aliens have been teaching him to speak. It’s certainly not his older brother, who has only taught him how to say, “OW, ROCCO, NO! NO TOUCH BROTHER!”
Anyway, when Rocco gets up in the morning it’s often waaaaayy too early for us (like 4:30AM too early) so we ignore him until it’s impossible to ignore him, at which point we periodically open the door a crack, toss a toy or a crust of bread into the crib, and leave. This usually lasts until 6AM when he resorts to one of his evil wake-up plans:
Rocco’s evil wake-up plan #1: He stands in the crib looking worried, yelling, “POOP DIAPER! POOP DIAPER! MAMA DADA POOP DIAPER!” (It’s a lie.) (We’re super gullible though.)
Rocco’s evil wake-up plan #2: He stands in the crib demanding loudly, “PINK BOWL NOM NOMS. OCCO HUNG-EE. PINK BOWL NOM NOMS.” He’s taking advantage of the fact that I’m a feeder. I cave every time.
Rocco’s evil wake-up plan #3: He lays in the crib, moaning pitifully, “Mama hug. Mama hug. Mama Dada hug,” which is what he calls being picked up—a hug. Sometimes he actually squeezes out real tears for this one.
We are so weak.