Charlotte’s been sick before. When she was eight days old, a friend came over with a cold and got her sick. Emergency room to check her breathing, and a lot of very extremely just filthy language out of me toward the person who got her sick (and who has a kid and should have known better). Charlotte got a nasty stomach bug over the holiday break. I picked her up one morning, and the front of her PJs were warm and damp, all over her chest and little belly.

It was poop.

Poor thing.

Charlotte’s had a fever before, but she’s never just had a day where she didn’t feel well without anything visible being wrong (aside from another fever). Yesterday, she wasn’t her playful self. She was too weak to practice walking. Her head was heavy and hot. She wanted to cuddle, to sit on my lap, put her head on my chest and chill.

Now. This child. Unless it’s bedtime or storytime, she doesn’t not like to sit still on a lap for long. This was strange behavior indeed.  Her fever wasn’t high enough to merit medicine or a visit to the doctor. Her stomach seemed fine. It was nothing big.

But there was also little I could do for her to make her feel better. I didn’t necessarily feel helpless so much as just bad. I felt badly for this usually bubbly and happy little kid who just plain felt like poop. All I could do was cuddle her, change her diaper and make sure she had enough to eat.

Her fever is lower today, and she’s interested in playing.  She also got up an hour earlier — in anticipation of changing the clocks this week?  Is my daughter that smart already?

Luckily, a coffeemaker with a timer showed up yesterday and got me out of bed earlier this morning.  It also could be the very thing that woke Charlotte up early.  She’s never heard a coffeemaker before.