Just enough time to read 2 articles in the Guardian, 2 very different takes on parenthood. One (Charlie Brooker - best known for his biting sacrasm and merciless TV critiques) was waxing lyrical about the joys of being a new dad.
The other, by contrast, caught my attention with the punchy headline: 'Mums, stop moaning!'. Quite, I thought. And I'm guilty of it. Written from the perspective of someone who couldn't have kids, it was an enlightening wake-up call. 'You mums are blessed," the writer pointed out, and she's right. I'd make a real effort, I resolved, not to complain, I'm lucky to have two such gorgeous bambinos I gave myself a good talking to... and told my husband as much.
Fast forward 2 hours and we're in the kitchen.
Him to me: "What happened in the space of 2 hours?"
Me to him: "Nothing, I don't know, I'm sorry."
My sudden and complete loss of temper was the result of tantrums (times two) over some yoghurt. Unkindly thumping down some peas, sweetcorn and fish in front of them at the same time as the longed-for pudding (so at least it looked like I was trying to give them a balanced meal) was hardly the moan-free parenting I was aiming for just 2 hours before.
Him to me: "I'm not saying... just it is hard."
Me to self: "So much for not complaining."