Humbling.

Yesterday was a tough one at our house. A sick child, an unexpected day at home during a very busy work week, and a hectic morning spent visiting urgent care, picking up my laptop from the office, and waiting for multiple prescriptions at Target.

I was tired and crabby. Calvin was tired and crabby and sick. We were quite the pair.

By the time we made our way from urgent care across town to my office and then back home to Target, Calvin was teetering on the edge. While we waited for his prescriptions, I tried to keep him entertained with my phone, my keys, his toy cars, his bear, a snack — I employed every tactic in my arsenal. But all he wanted to do was stand up in the cart, stand on the stool we were purchasing in the back of the cart, throw my keys, chew on the tube of toothpaste, and — once we picked up his prescriptions — try to open his eye drops. Which were not childproofed. Which I knew he would most likely empty onto the ground. Which cost me FIFTY DOLLARS.

I said no, and that led to the tantrum of the century. Shoes went flying, items from our cart went flying, he banged his head on the cart until his forehead was scraped and bleeding, and then he tried to climb out. All while screaming bloody murder and hitting me in the face.

I wanted to die. Right there, in the middle of Target. Just take me, Lord.

Instead, I picked him up football-style and carried him to the checkout under my arm. One kind man helped gather all the items Calvin had thrown as I struggled to hold onto Calvin and unload our cart. Another mother came up behind me in line, smiled sympathetically, and said "I have one of those at home." But the cashier stared at me unforgivingly, and other shoppers gave me The Look — the one that clearly says "Control your monster of a kid, lady. I shouldn't have to listen to that." I tried as hard as I could to hold my head up high as I checked out and carried my still-hysterical child out of Target, shoeless and screaming.

Poor baby. I knew he was tired. I knew he didn't feel well. I knew I was pushing my luck. But I also knew I had to get him to the doctor, I had to pick up work, and I had to get his prescription filled because otherwise we'd both have to stay home again today — putting me even further behind. I didn't have a choice.

After forcing my inconsolable child into his car seat, I shut the door and ran back to the cart return. The same man who had picked up our strewn-about items in the store was parked two cars over. I gave him a tired smile and a half wave, and he said "My son did that all the time when he was a toddler. He's 16 now, and he's a good kid. It's going to be okay."

I nearly started crying. The exact words I needed to hear at the exact time I needed to hear them. Heaven sent, delivered by a kind stranger.

Later in the day I relayed the morning's events to Nate, explaining how embarrassed I was and how terribly some of the other shoppers had looked at me. He asked, "Who does that? Who looks at someone going through that and judges them?"

And I said, "Me. Before I had kids."

Parenthood is nothing if not a constant lesson in humility.