I yelled at her.

Over a spilled cup of juice.

I barked at him for not listening. It was one of those days…

After I put the kids to bed upon a very exhausting day, I was up late mopping the sticky kitchen floor because of the spilled juice from earlier and suddenly, I felt even more annoyed. The last thing I wanted to do so late at night was mop the floor and there I was, mopping the floor.

Tired. Cranky. Done.

You know the kind of day I am describing – when you just wish the long day would come to an end already. The kind of day that screams, “You need some time to yourself for your own sanity.” But as tired as I was at that point, getting into bed actually didn’t sound appealing. I needed some time alone.

So instead of writing, tweeting or watching some senseless reality television, I stumbled upon a random episode of Mystery Diagnosis. I instantly became engrossed in a particular documentary and hung on every word of this compelling story. It was about an 11 month-old baby who was having very strange symptoms happen all at once and soon this baby and her symptoms became a mystery to doctors; they didn’t have a concrete diagnosis. The situation went from bad to worse and ultimately, this baby was fighting for her life.

The images I saw in that video were horrifying.

And as hard as it was to watch, I continued, staring at the screen in sheer agony and listening to this mother speak about the distress of such a dramatic and terrifying situation. My heart was breaking for this woman and her baby. I couldn’t even imagine the pain this mother endured as she watched her little innocent baby slowly taken over by this horrible, horrible illness. It turns out it was an attack on her immune system and doctors still aren’t completely sure why it happened.

When the documentary ended I was motionless – almost breathless.

I couldn’t get those images of that baby out of my head.

I looked down at my clean kitchen floor and saw the lonely mop standing in the corner and I thought of the events that occurred earlier in my home. I felt so guilty for yelling at my daughter over some spilled juice and being so short with my son. In the midst of my own crankiness, some desperate woman was holding the hand of her 11 month-old baby who was fighting for her life in a hospital bed hoping that her baby would make it through the night and *I* was the mother screaming at her kid over a sippy cup.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that mother…

I couldn’t stop thinking about that baby…

I wanted to run upstairs, wake my kids up and tell them how sorry I was for being so snappy earlier. I wanted to tell them how much I love them and that they are my entire universe. I wanted to hold them and explain that they mean everything to me – and that I am not perfect. I wanted them to know that tomorrow is another day and mommy gets another opportunity to make this thing right…

We are all hard working moms with our own crosses to bear in life and we all deal with different issues. But when you read or hear about another family and the heartache they experience with the unstable and unpredictable health of their child, as well as dealing with the fear of potentially losing that child, well, that’s just something I cannot.even. imagine.

Yes, I managed to live out another parent fail – but one that certainly put things in perspective for me.