People have been asking us where we’re going to put the baby when he comes, since we only have a three-bedroom house. Where we’re going to put the baby has never been the question for us, though—he’ll get the nursery and Vincenzo/Rocco will share the fire truck room. The real question was where to put Vincenzo’s weapons that were covering the top of his bed. So over Christmas break Kevin built a classy weapons arsenal above Vincenzo’s bed, and now there’s nothing holding us back from having this baby.
Oh. Except there’s this one small issue…
Two weeks ago we moved Rocco into the bottom bunk of the fire truck bed and Vincenzo to the top. The first night in there, Rocco talked for an hour straight. “Dendo on top bunk. Occo on bottom. How you doin’ up dere Dendo? Dendo want binky? Me not tired anymore. MOM! MOM! MOM!” Only he says each of those 40 times before moving onto the next one. He also called us in about ten times during first night to ask what time it was and then scream at us when we answered.
Vincenzo tried to get Rocco to stop talking the first night by reminding him of the nightmare Rocco had a few months back. “Rocco, remember the itty bitty funny things? They’re going to come get you if you don’t stop talking…” Then Rocco talked for another hour about the itty bitty funny things that might come get him.
Two weeks into the new sleeping arrangement and things haven’t gotten much better, only now sometimes Vincenzo opens the door to let Rocco out and he comes sprinting through the house, jail-break style while we frantically try to turn off Tosh.0 before Rocco sees a video of a monkey drinking its own urine or something worse.
Vincenzo summed it up the other day, “Mom, if you added up all the words Rocco said today and put them together without any breaks, that’s how much he talks at night.”
Tonight it is an hour past bedtime. Vincenzo is sleeping in my bed because I decided to try tough love with Rocco, which has resulted in hateful screaming, an unsuccessful 20-minute return to the crib, sobs that turn into the sound of throwing up, and zero smiles or hugs from me.