When I was pregnant with mythird child and we found out it was a boy, Bernie was naturally over the moon. I did not have to think about what name I was going to give him, because I knew I wanted to call him Joseph. But since we gave the two girls a second name that started with a V, we wanted to keep it going with Joseph. Again, I did not have to think twice about it. I wanted to call him Vincent, after Van Gogh.
Fast forward to seven years later when I was pregnant with my fourth child. I didn’t bother finding out about the gender because I wanted it to be a surprise for once. All throughout the 34 weeks that I carried that child, I was adamant that it was a girl. And then of course I was proven wrong when Patrick came out. He was born on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day, hence the first name. But, dear God almighty, I was stumped for a second name that started with a V.
So he ended up as a Vincent as well. It sounds good anyway and it’s a good Christian name. So began the tale of the two Vincents.
They are similar in so many ways, from when they were babies up to now. They both love food. A lot. They both love basketball, which they play every chance they get. Even at the small money-making tricks at the supermarkets.
Why settle for one, when you can have two Vincents, right? Life is more interesting that way.