Walking down the aisles of the grocery store one day with my one month old son, I leaned in to comfort him; red-faced, hot, crying, “sshhh, you’re ok, you’re ok, sshhh, Sshh”. I was exhausted, worried, embarrassed. The crying, the crying, my baby, my worry, the people around us- I leaned in again, near tears myself, “sshh, sshh, what’s wrong? what’s wrong?” and I knew I must be doing something wrong. Defeated, I stood, head down, aware of nothing but the crying.Out of my reverie, I heard the woman next to me speak. A stylish white-haired woman in blue pants holding a bag of apples, she touched my arm. “ Babies cry”, she said. Matter of fact. No preamble, no small talk. “All babies cry”. She patted my arm, her hand cool against my own overheated skin, and she walked away.Overwhelmed, I stood speechless. “Babies cry”, I thought. Of course. All babies cry. Not just mine. Not just at this one time, in this one store, and not just for me. Babies cry for all mothers, everywhere, over thousands of years. And suddenly, I wasn’t alone. I saw I was just one of millions of mothers in a world of crying babies. My baby and I were one in a million- and we were going to be ok.