We marked our thirty-fourth week with a fever. Yesterday morning, Baby woke up flushed and feverish. I mistakenly thought she was just hot from being wrapped in a warm blanket. My assessment of her condition changed as soon as she vomited all of her milk--twice. I considered taking the day off, but I had already put in for leave today, so I drove her to Mom's as usual, hoping for the best. I'm lucky that we have a caretaker we trust blindly; otherwise, I would have stayed home with her. Baby had a pretty awful day, with the fever coming and going and simply not feeling well.

She woke up with a slight fever this morning, but overall, she looked better. She even kept down her milk. I only encountered some difficulty tonight when I tried to feed her, and she was obviously trying to poop. (She had not pooped since two days ago.) I checked her diaper but saw nothing; however, she kept pushing and whining. I knew she was probably constipated, and the harder she pushed, the more she whined. I gave her a hand--push her knees up, spread the cheeks--and slowly but surely, the poo came out in solid clumps that I can only describe as 'floaters.' (Haha.) After another fifteen seconds of straining, she got out the last of it, poor thing. Perhaps she was too tired to eat after that; she just wanted to sleep. I can still hear her sighing as she tries to fall asleep. Too cute.

I do wonder how she will respond to seeing Husband come home tomorrow. Hopefully he will try to get here before she falls asleep. (That means you have to get up and on the road early, Husband.)