I suppose it could be WORSE. I mean, nothing’s broken, no one’s dead, no one’s in jail or anything like that. But today just wasn’t the greatest. It wasn’t the worst either. It just was. That’s all.
I think I’m coming down with whatever it is that my daughter has. She’s spent pretty much all day on the couch or the living room floor, sleeping or just laying there. She doesn’t feel completely spent, she has gotten up and moved around, but she’s more crabby than normal. I hope I don’t get hit too hard tomorrow—I’ve got MOPS and some other really important plans (I won’t go into detail here…let’s just say it has to do with money, and I hope to be really happy at this time tomorrow).
The house, for the most part, shows just how out of it I feel. Most rooms are pretty messy. Some have even threw up into adjoining rooms. That’s not to say that the whole place looks bad–in fact, the room that was the worst this morning, in my opinion, is looking worlds better now. Because I did something about it—I had no real choice, I had to make SOMETHING for a baked good tomorrow morning. I tried the homemade doughnuts with the Amish Friendship Bread Biscuits that I like to make, but they didn’t turn out in a pleasing manner (for me, at least). So, I just went ahead and made the bread like normal. I think I’ll be bringing the bags with me. 🙂 That way at least here’s one week I won’t have to worry while having a bazillion of them. And if I want to make the Cinnamon Rolls (which I will be doing with this round tomorrow…I give it a few extra days to ferment) next time, I’ve got an extra bag in the freezer right now 🙂
Five hours makes a big difference. That’s how long it’s been since I started this. A whole different mommy sat down here and started that blog post.
A mommy whose baby didn’t succumb to familial medical history.
Because, you see, I paused there to go and put my little guy to bed. And about the time that Goldilocks was done with the porridge and was moving on to the chairs…
He had a febrile seizure. This could have definitely have gone worse…he seems to be okay now, and has been checked out at the er. I say familial history, though, because my hubby had them when he was a kid.
But the torture, I think, has just begun for me. I’m not going to get over this scare quickly. Every time I think about it, I just stop cold. I was a bit of a basket case when the EMTs showed up, I had moments at the hospital where I started crying (usually when I got a hug from someone close to me, like T and my sister), and way too many times when my brain just totally shut down. I think it wants to be back with the mom in the time stream where her baby didn’t have a seizure. 😐 I know I’m going to remember bits and pieces of this night where my heart will fall to my feet again. Where I’ll break out and cry…
But through it all, you know what? We weren’t alone. No no, not that we had T and D with us (though we did). No, I know God was there. I know I had His Peace. More so than I’ve ever known it, I think. There was a point when, just before T came into the room and let me know he and D and my sister and her hubby were there, that I stopped and prayed—no words came. But I know God was reading my heart and, more importantly, filling me with peace that I haven’t known in a while. I’ll tell ya, one of the first things out of my MOUTH when this started happening, I think (hope, don’t remember the exact chronology of events) even before I started yelling for T (who was getting ready for work at that moment, he had just turned off the shower when I started yelling, I think) was a “Please God, No!” which I KNOW in my heart was in prayer form.