The rough night with the kids that I wrote about last post was made possible because my husband was at hot yoga. Last night he was home and, as he doesn’t have the same screaming callouses that I have that make an hour of screaming bearable, he decided to do things His Way.
His Way included spending an hour going into the room each time Rocco stood at the door yelling for him, tucking him back into bed, moving him into the nursery, moving him back into his bedroom, moving Vincenzo to the nursery, moving him back, bringing cups of water to their room and books and cars and toys and miniature ponies as requested.
It was hard to silently observe from my place on the couch, especially during the times when Vincenzo would say, “But Mom doesn’t allow us to have that in bed…” and Kevin would answer, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” If I were an ounce more passive aggressive, I would have put an episode of Super Nanny on TV and gotten out a piece of poster board.
So last night we decided to just make a clean break from room-sharing and move Rocco back into the nursery until The Gugs needs it. I am both so ready to have this baby and so not.