Don't "f" with the schedule

The Banker learned a hard lesson last night. The only problem is that I also had to suffer through the tutorial.

See, yesterday evening I was in the garage working on a painting project with a friend. The Banker was assigned care of Becca for the hour, hour and a half. Nothing extraordinary was demanded: Simply finish feeding her, amuse her, change her.

We'd barely cracked open the paint can when The Banker popped his head into the garage and announced that Becca was asleep. "But it's only 6:30 or 7," I said. "If she falls asleep now, she'll never sleep through the night."

"No," he responded in his ultimate wisdom. "She had a busy day visiting my mom, and she's just tired. It'll be fine."

Despite my repeated concerns, The Banker said that Becca was really quite alright. And she was. Until 10:30 rolled around and she was suddenly and irrevocably awake. And thus she remained until well past midnight. Any time she was put in her crib she'd scream with such fervor that she'd start gagging and coughing. (We have a stubborn child, I'm told. Gee, ya think so?!)

At one point in this exhausting trial, I whipped around and growled at The Banker, "I'm the Mom. I know her schedule. I know what she needs. When I tell you something, LISTEN, and don't "F" with the schedule!"

Becca finally exhausted herself in the wee hours of the night...and awoke in the wee hours of the morning. And now? Now she's sleeping through her feeding. Because someone "f"ed with her schedule.