I babysat our fifth grandchild, Finn, while his parents went on their first real date Sunday night since his birth nearly four months ago.

With two children of my own and experience watching four other grandchildren, you could expect that Clark here, a seasoned pro, knows every nuance of a small baby’s cries. Afterall, a wee baby possesses few needs: milk, burping, clean diapers, sleep, comfort and a soft toy or two.

Mom said, as she and Dad headed out the door to the Rustic movie, that he would be needing a nap soon. A few minutes later, I walked him to sleep, placed him in his crib and went about chopping vegetables for a soup. I checked on him regularly but didn’t expect him to wake for a few hours.

Maybe 10 minutes later, I saw his blanket kicking in the air and discovered him quietly studying the bright-colored mobile above his head.

The good gramma promptly lifted him out of his crib to change his diapy and fit him into his nighties, and then the wailing began. A cleaned-up baby continued wailing, even as I rocked, walked, sang and tried to feed him a bottle, which he fiercely rejected. I tried burping him and got a hiccup.

Then I found a musical, lighted toy that distracted him from his irritation. I was certain this toy was the answer, though he stared at it with grave thoughts.

And after the tiny nursery orchestra had played its tune for the 10th time, Finn’s little face broke into horrendous sorrow, wet all over again.

I pored over the few needs of a healthy baby and made a decision to take a break. I lay him back down in his crib and he immediately stopped crying. He looked up at his mobile, then glanced at me and gave me a big smile.

The little rascal just wanted to lie in his crib, kick his feet and hands, and study his mobile. He just wanted to practice his motor skills and gramma’s arms were a trap, not a comfort. He taught me.