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.

This week is going by slowly! I had a meeting with a lawyer Monday morning to make sure I don’t get screwed over completely by the lady that hit me and her insurance company. No offense to lawyers or to this particular guy (who was extremely nice and teaches at the university where I work), but I really don’t like having to do this. Really. No. But I don’t wanna get stuck paying bills I shouldn’t even have, either.

I also found out that I have to go see Mr. Foot Doctor again because I am supposed to find out exactly what probability of future damage/pain there is and how bad it will be. While I suppose it would be good to know, I really don’t want to expect it. I need my feet. The idea that they might start giving me hell in ten years because of someone’s inability to drive a car properly makes me want to run over someone’s face (guess who) with this funny shoe I still have to wear. I’m kinda kidding. Kinda.

I was told that this will take at least 4-6 months to solve. In a way, that’s good. We’re moving next week, and Mrs. P. is starting a new job, and we’re officially trying to get pregnant next month. So something to back-burner might actually be good. Besides, as long as someone else fights out getting hospital bills paid and all that, I can live with it more peacefully.

I’m going to finish my mocha now.