By Maggie Eisenbarth on October 6, 2017
It’s 7:36 a.m. I slept for almost eight hours and for the first time, in a very long time, only woke up once from baby cries. I can’t say I slept well or soundly but I was stationary for those hours. Still. Aside from listening to the rain pouring from the clouds, clouds that have been absent for months. I listened with dread to the answered prayers of park rangers, Glacier National Park lovers, fire fighters, business owners, travelers, ranchers, hikers, and families.
The rain so desperately needed was putting out wildfires while falling through the synthetic sheeting on my unfinished roof, raining on my dining room table and wherever else it could seep in and roll to. I resisted getting up and mopping it all up, knowing my sleep and sanity were more important.
The rain inside has soaked through three towels and two jersey sheets. Wanted water is in the kettle for coffee and I am going outside to gather an armload of kindling and firewood. I hope the baby will sleep in and someone will come to my rescue.
But I don’t know what I need to be rescued from, or if I am just being terribly dramatic and momentarily distraught.
The order for more rest and less stress is straight from the neurologist. On September 3rd I had 17 seizures in 24 hours and was put on medication for epilepsy. My family is worried, yet their worry has come to me in a barrage of lecturing advice that all seems to say, “This is what happens when you have too many kids, too many creative projects, want to homeschool and remodel a house, tend animals and a VRBO all at the same time.” Their concern translates to me, “Who do you think you are?” So I have been racking my misfiring (but healthy) brain for answers.
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