Another rainy day. A kvetchy baby. Bedtime. The one thing he cannot sleep without — a mobile that projects a light show on the ceiling — is malfunctioning.
My mother is helping me wrangle the baby on the changing table. The mobile is going on and off, on and off, randomly. I curse the cheap batteries we put in it and call for a fresh set. I take it down, change the batteries, put it back up.
Problem not solved. On and off, on and off. I start to panic. Handle him, I say, while I take this to The One Who Fixes Things. He reports no problem that he can see.
I start to mentally prepare myself to entertain the kvetchy baby while someone makes a Target run for a new mobile. Preferably the exact same one.
Then the One Who Fixes Things notices that the baby is holding this:
It’s the remote for the mobile.
We gave it to the baby to keep him entertained while we changed him.
Hilarity ensued.
And then the baby slept.
Mama-Come-Lately 
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