My son is teething, and I'm a bad mom.

This past Tuesday, after having to pick Tycho up from daycare due to a purported fever (of which there was none when I took him to the doctor that same day), I couldn't take the screaming anymore. I drove into a parking lot in a fit of desperation and took my wailing son out of the car, trying to calm him down with hugs and kisses, applesauce packs, Tylenol, and teething toys while innocent bystanders stared at the scene: A frazzled mom and a toddler with limbs akimbo, the sound of his cries of pain echoing off the nearby buildings.

That is when I lost my shit.

... I started this blog as a way to, among other Fox Family shenanigans, keep track of the funny moments that happen in parenting. But things in our house have been far from funny since Tycho's teeth started coming in. He already has a handful of teeth that proved to be no problem when they came in, but I don't know if it's molars or eye teeth or what the hell is going on. The past week or so, my once-happy boy has suddenly transformed into a red-faced, drooling, screaming mess that literally can't be contained.

After trying ten minutes to calm him down, I finally gave up and put Tycho back in the carseat, singing the ABCs more as a way to keep me from yelling desperately into his face than to distract him. We were only a few minutes away from the house, but as I shut the backseat door and rested my head on the car, trying to compose myself and bracing myself to get into a car that had transformed into the seventh layer of hell, I knew those minutes would feel like an eternity.

I'm not proud of what happened on that drive home. All I can say is, there's only so far patience will take you, and eventually, everyone reaches their breaking point. Mine happened while sitting at a red light, watching in the rearview mirror as Tycho started to thrash his legs in protest and pain, and...

I screamed. I screamed as loud as I could without scaring the shit out of Tycho, but it was still enough to stop him in his tracks for all of two seconds. I had lost all self-control.

Then I cried. I completely crumbled, y'all, and gave in to the shoulder-shaking, ugly-faced, shameful sobbing of someone who had reached the end of her rope. Both of us had tear-streaked faces by the time I pulled into my parking spot, and after giving myself a moment to wipe my eyes and take a deep breath, I grabbed Tycho from his carseat and stroked his cheeks, too.

When I tell people that we practice gentle parenting (without really calling it that, as we're not huge into labels), I imagine that they think I'm always cool, calm, and collected. After all, Tycho is a happy kid and, for the most part, I'm a happy and involved mama who strives to keep him curious and always learning.

I'm no robot, people. I have feelings and emotions and a button that is pushed on the daily and shit that threatens to be lost on a now-regular basis. Just like every other parent in this world. My temper is fierce and my patience is limited, and while I try to hold it back as much as possible, I've broken down more times as a mother than I have over any other time of my life.

And as much as I know it's not true, there are days -- like Tuesday -- that make me believe I'm a bad mom.

After I put him to bed (where he continued to cry for around 20 minutes before finally falling asleep, and while I'd normally go up after 15 to soothe him, that shit? It was lost hours ago), I cracked open a beer and turned on some mindless television in an attempt to wash the day away. As I swirled the beer in the bottle, I started thinking... you know, as bad a day as I was having, he was, too. And even worse, he can't tell me why.

I repeated it over and over... "Tycho wasn't giving me a hard time to be an asshole, he was just having a bad day." Eventually, the lingering anger finally faded away and was replaced with sympathy. He was scared, helpless, confused, and as Matt put it, "He's probably sitting there thinking, this is my life now. All there is, is pain." Can you even imagine how bleak life must be when you're in such agony and can't find any way to help yourself?

My parenting philosophy is gentle, and so long as I'm trying, learning, and wanting to be better, I'm doing a damn good job. It doesn't mean that losing it once in a while is out of the question, especially when the times are really, really hard. And while Tycho deserves my best at all times, it doesn't mean I have to be perfect as a mother.

Poor baby slept that whole night, probably a combination of wanting to escape and extreme exhaustion after crying for a full three hours. When I got him out of bed the next morning, he smiled at me and snuggled into my shoulder, and I almost lost it again... but this time, with a sigh of relief. I snuggled back, thankful that the worst appeared to be over.

This, too, shall pass.