Patheticute

The Princess, being the extremely accommodating little gal that she is, decided at the ripe old age of eighteen months that naps were for sissies.  That's right: no naps for almost two and a half years now.  There's been the occasional Chris Farley dead-fall from complete exhaustion, but the only consistent thing about her naps is their absence.

Given this fact, The Hubbs and I became concerned when The Princess came home from school on Wednesday, had her snack, and headed straight to bed.  For five hours.  Dead to the world, like those naps of old. 

She stumbled out of her room around the time I got home from work, dragging Dirt Pink behind her and frowning that pathetic little frown...the one that is so pathetic, it's almost cute.  She stood in the middle of the living room, looking at nothing in particular, and began to whine.

When I got down on my knees and held out my arms, she catapulted herself into my lap, where she stayed for an uncharacteristically long time.  I kissed her forehead as she leaned on me, and, sure enough, she was running a fever.

This poor kid has been in bed nearly perpetually for the last forty-eight-plus hours.  When she's not in bed, she's extremely volatile; the slightest thing can send her into hysterics.  She's a snot faucet with a nasty cough, and the crazy bed-head only serves to make her more pathetic.

She seems to be doing slightly better this evening, given the fact that she is up and moving around, and has been for more than five minutes at a time.  She's eating like a pig, but coughing like an eighty-year-old man with emphysema.

I've set up a doctor's appointment for Monday morning in case she hasn't kicked this thing by then, but in the mean time, here we are.  We've got the most pathetic little girl who also manages to be the cutest thing on two legs.  Hence: patheticute.