Tantrums and Meltdowns

Let's talk about tantrums.

Hush it, Mother. I'm not talking about mine.

We've all seen them. The random child in the Wal-Mart checkout line that is pulling and throwing every candy bar within it's reach. The little girl who throws herself onto the tiled floor and sobs as though someone has kidnapped her Pooh Bear. The four year old boy that is hitting you across the shins with his plastic sword while his parents croon how absolutely adorable their child is.

I'm not going to lie. When I witnessed these pint-sized parenting failures, I felt superior. I knew that my child would never EVER act like that. And if they did then the punishment would be swift and appropriate. Meltdown in aisle 4? We would simply leave the store. Screeching in front of the milk cooler? They are only trying to communicate.

I. Was. An. Idiot.

Today I witnessed a full-blown, bona fide, mind-crunching tantrum by my 16 month old daughter. Sure, Jason and I have been joking for months how she has my attitude and we're both screwed. I'm not joking anymore. We. Are. Screwed.

I'm actually a little freaking lot afraid to take her in public. I can picture her slamming her head on the shopping card handle while I move three feet away and pretend that I don't know who's child that is, exclaiming to passers-by "What is wrong with her parents?! Poor dear must come from a broken home."

I dread the moment I park the cart too close to the shelves bearing glass packaged items. Like the return of Jesus, I know it's going to happen - I just don't know when.

While waiting by the coffee bar before the church service yesterday, I let her down, foolishly thinking that she would stay close to mommy and all those near would marvel at her utter cuteness.

I really didn't know she could run that fast.

Luckily my sister was walking up and heard my way-too-loud-for-that-small-of-a-space yell "Catch her!".

She went to baby jail, a.k.a. children's church, immediately following.

I'm going to ask everyone to start praying now.  Before long she's going to be able to string a sentence together and my face will be a permanent shade of red.

See, Mom, wishes do come true. I have a child just like me.