I’m so frustrated, I could scream. I suspect hormones are actually the culprit, but from where I’m sitting (in the angry seat) it is all the fault of my pesky offspring, who will not let go of my bloody leg. At all. He’s driving me even further round the bend than I was to begin with. There will shortly be no bend left, fer Chrissakes. We will be driving up our own arses.

The Ann that was childless is still there – currently pummelling me senseless in rage, howling that I am just lucky to have him, so stop complaining already. But it’s no good. I am in a spectacularly foul mood, despite the fact that my nausea-tummy-thing finally, finally, receded this  morning. There was actually an awful lot of morning to get through today: Harry decided that 5am was the optimum time for a bit of a sing-song. When the audience didn’t join in the chorus of his atonal la la composition, he began calling loudly for room service. Attempts to distract him from the menu (house left, or house right. No udder milk will do) failed miserably, due to Auntie Beeb not making CBeebies available until 6am. Parent-hating bastards. 

Harry is completely bunged with snot, probably feeling nauseous, refusing any food not totally saturated in… saturated fats, and is clinging onto parental clothing like a particularly determined barnacle, all the time while whinging for Great bloody Britain. You’d think I would be sympathetic… I should be sympathetic… but no. I ran clean out of sympathy about midday. He is being a proper little piglet, and is making me want to bang my head into the wall with a satisfying smack. He is about to be put to bed, and if he doesn’t keep his trap shut when he’s there, I think I shall drive myself down the pub, get naughtily drunk alone at the bar, before summoning a taxi home. Mummy has Had Enough.

When I read this tomorrow, I shall most likely feel embarrassed by my grumpiness. Tonight, I am far too busy: contemplating what weight of hammer would best serve my purposes when I finally snap and attack this wretched PC. There is a loose wire somewhere, causing it to suffer severe cognitive lock up at varying unpredictable intervals and require a complete re-boot. It is also running like A FUCKING PIG, necessitating several mouse clicks of increasingly blind fury and pressure in order to achieve what one leisurely click should do. The letters are appearing on the screen about 8 seconds after I type them – if they appear at all – meaning that I have to go back and correct… and correct… and correct… before the evil contraption locks-up again mid-way through. 3 times so far, just on this post. 3! WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

I must go. The junior dictator requires his bed.

NB. I am about to purchase some more ovulations tests – if the computer sees fit to allow me.

See here:


for some interesting info on high/low sensitivity tests, PCOS, and not peeing first thing in the morning. Or peeing on ovulation tests, anyway. Morning peeing in general is probably ok. Perhaps even advisory.

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