Oh man, the last few days have been strictly head above water stuff. As in, I am treading water for dear life and always, always, feel like I am about to go under.

I am so entirely exhausted. I need a nap by 11am each morning. Of course, if my children didn't wake at 6am, it might not be so bad. But they do. So it is.

And of course, my kids are thoroughly against me napping. Or even sitting. If I am reading, computering, anything that involves me on my arse, they circle my ankles like wolves. Even sitting on the toilet must look like laziness to them.

Conversely, when I am doing the dishes or putting away washing? They are nowhere to be found. It appears I am raising 1950's husbands for the future. They are regular little taskmasters and I feel the weight of their judgement whenever I dare to check Facebook.

Meanwhile, don't they realise that the computer is actually "Mumma's work" and that they'll be sorry when I write my bestseller and refuse to buy them a car with the spoils?

Put that in your 1950s pipe and smoke it! I'll never fetch you your slippers, my sons!

But then again, I totally will because, goodness, the mornings can be fresh and "Good lord, your little feet are like ice!"

I am such a good mother.

Two days in a row, I have run maxi loads in the washing machine only to discover at the end that I have omitted to include the clothes.

Deep breaths.

Tick, tick, tick. That's me counting down the days until this baby is born and I can go back to regular newborn baby, up all night exhaustion. Compared with pregnancy exhaustion, it's a bloody breeze.

So let me go to bed before 9pm tonight and then tomorrow, I might feel like writing about the important stuff that is swirling in my head but is quite stuck under the fog of sleepy defeat.

I believe Zig's 'just woke up' face perfectly represents my current form:

Sweet dreams.