Frustration

I was planning on some light hearted post for a Monday morning, but the only word that seems to circle round my brain is frustration.

I was feeding William in the early hours of Sunday, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking of lots of interesting topics and ideas for posts.

Then like most of my dreams (and I was half asleep at the time) when I wake up the following day I can’t recall a single one of them. Frustration.

William seems to have this uncanny knack of knowing exactly when we’re about to eat, and then to launch himself intoa hissy fit over apparently nothing.

We try to eat straight after feeding him? He suffers with trapped wind

We wait until he’s been fed, winded and settled? He wakes up as soon as the food hits the plate demanding another bottle.

I have resigned myself to eating at a break neck pace, or consuming all food cold. Frustration.

I come into work early, knowing that I am on holiday tomorrow, to ensure my deadlines are met. Over the weekend, our IT department have “tweaked” the network. This actually means nothing will work, no printers are available and the stuff you were working on is inaccessible until mid-morning. Frustration.

I always try to be an understanding, caring, considerate person. Generally I feel I succeed, for the most part. However I have what is technically known I believe, as the raging horn. Mrs Zilla is out of action, so to speak, for another couple of weeks at least, and is showing no inclination to lend me a hand in that department, metaphorically or otherwise speaking.

I thought a lack of sleep and crying baby might alleviate such carnal thoughts, and whilst the crying works temporarily it’s not drowning out the shouts from my hormones. Frustration.

I would normally apologise for such a negative and whiny post, but the hormones won’t let me.

Frustration

I was planning on some light hearted post for a Monday morning, but the only word that seems to circle round my brain is frustration.

I was feeding William in the early hours of Sunday, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking of lots of interesting topics and ideas for posts.

Then like most of my dreams (and I was half asleep at the time) when I wake up the following day I can’t recall a single one of them. Frustration.

William seems to have this uncanny knack of knowing exactly when we’re about to eat, and then to launch himself intoa hissy fit over apparently nothing.

We try to eat straight after feeding him? He suffers with trapped wind

We wait until he’s been fed, winded and settled? He wakes up as soon as the food hits the plate demanding another bottle.

I have resigned myself to eating at a break neck pace, or consuming all food cold. Frustration.

I come into work early, knowing that I am on holiday tomorrow, to ensure my deadlines are met. Over the weekend, our IT department have “tweaked” the network. This actually means nothing will work, no printers are available and the stuff you were working on is inaccessible until mid-morning. Frustration.

I always try to be an understanding, caring, considerate person. Generally I feel I succeed, for the most part. However I have what is technically known I believe, as the raging horn. Mrs Zilla is out of action, so to speak, for another couple of weeks at least, and is showing no inclination to lend me a hand in that department, metaphorically or otherwise speaking.

I thought a lack of sleep and crying baby might alleviate such carnal thoughts, and whilst the crying works temporarily it’s not drowning out the shouts from my hormones. Frustration.

I would normally apologise for such a negative and whiny post, but the hormones won’t let me.

Frustration

I was planning on some light hearted post for a Monday morning, but the only word that seems to circle round my brain is frustration.

I was feeding William in the early hours of Sunday, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking of lots of interesting topics and ideas for posts.

Then like most of my dreams (and I was half asleep at the time) when I wake up the following day I can’t recall a single one of them. Frustration.

William seems to have this uncanny knack of knowing exactly when we’re about to eat, and then to launch himself intoa hissy fit over apparently nothing.

We try to eat straight after feeding him? He suffers with trapped wind

We wait until he’s been fed, winded and settled? He wakes up as soon as the food hits the plate demanding another bottle.

I have resigned myself to eating at a break neck pace, or consuming all food cold. Frustration.

I come into work early, knowing that I am on holiday tomorrow, to ensure my deadlines are met. Over the weekend, our IT department have “tweaked” the network. This actually means nothing will work, no printers are available and the stuff you were working on is inaccessible until mid-morning. Frustration.

I always try to be an understanding, caring, considerate person. Generally I feel I succeed, for the most part. However I have what is technically known I believe, as the raging horn. Mrs Zilla is out of action, so to speak, for another couple of weeks at least, and is showing no inclination to lend me a hand in that department, metaphorically or otherwise speaking.

I thought a lack of sleep and crying baby might alleviate such carnal thoughts, and whilst the crying works temporarily it’s not drowning out the shouts from my hormones. Frustration.

I would normally apologise for such a negative and whiny post, but the hormones won’t let me.

Frustration

I was planning on some light hearted post for a Monday morning, but the only word that seems to circle round my brain is frustration.

I was feeding William in the early hours of Sunday, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking of lots of interesting topics and ideas for posts.

Then like most of my dreams (and I was half asleep at the time) when I wake up the following day I can’t recall a single one of them. Frustration.

William seems to have this uncanny knack of knowing exactly when we’re about to eat, and then to launch himself intoa hissy fit over apparently nothing.

We try to eat straight after feeding him? He suffers with trapped wind

We wait until he’s been fed, winded and settled? He wakes up as soon as the food hits the plate demanding another bottle.

I have resigned myself to eating at a break neck pace, or consuming all food cold. Frustration.

I come into work early, knowing that I am on holiday tomorrow, to ensure my deadlines are met. Over the weekend, our IT department have “tweaked” the network. This actually means nothing will work, no printers are available and the stuff you were working on is inaccessible until mid-morning. Frustration.

I always try to be an understanding, caring, considerate person. Generally I feel I succeed, for the most part. However I have what is technically known I believe, as the raging horn. Mrs Zilla is out of action, so to speak, for another couple of weeks at least, and is showing no inclination to lend me a hand in that department, metaphorically or otherwise speaking.

I thought a lack of sleep and crying baby might alleviate such carnal thoughts, and whilst the crying works temporarily it’s not drowning out the shouts from my hormones. Frustration.

I would normally apologise for such a negative and whiny post, but the hormones won’t let me.

Christmas Revisited

In this post Christmas lull I made a discovery on our camera.

When we attended Godzooky 1’s Christmas Play I did attempt to take some pictures of him dressed as Rudolph. However, due to the poor light quality these didn’t make for great images.

With a bit of jiggery pokery (I’m finding sexual innuendo in everything at the moment) I’ve managed to restore this old master into something almost presentable:

Christmas Revisited

In this post Christmas lull I made a discovery on our camera.

When we attended Godzooky 1’s Christmas Play I did attempt to take some pictures of him dressed as Rudolph. However, due to the poor light quality these didn’t make for great images.

With a bit of jiggery pokery (I’m finding sexual innuendo in everything at the moment) I’ve managed to restore this old master into something almost presentable:

Christmas Revisited

In this post Christmas lull I made a discovery on our camera.

When we attended Godzooky 1’s Christmas Play I did attempt to take some pictures of him dressed as Rudolph. However, due to the poor light quality these didn’t make for great images.

With a bit of jiggery pokery (I’m finding sexual innuendo in everything at the moment) I’ve managed to restore this old master into something almost presentable:

Christmas Revisited

In this post Christmas lull I made a discovery on our camera.

When we attended Godzooky 1’s Christmas Play I did attempt to take some pictures of him dressed as Rudolph. However, due to the poor light quality these didn’t make for great images.

With a bit of jiggery pokery (I’m finding sexual innuendo in everything at the moment) I’ve managed to restore this old master into something almost presentable:

Testing 1,2

We had to take William for a hearing test yesterday. When he was born he had what looked like a pin prick on the outside of his ear. Apparently this is often a sign of deafness.

It’s become apparent since he’s been at home that there is no question as to his hearing abilities. He’ll be drifting off to sleep and then jumps a mile when one of the other kids drops something!

But an appointment had been made for a hearing test, and we were duty bound to attend.

It turned out to be quite interesting.

My memories of previous hearing tests were the expert standing behind the child and making a noise to one side, checking if they moved in that direction. Hi-tech stuff!

This was far more technical. There were electrodes attached to different parts of his head and then these mini headphones were slipped over his ears. Then sounds were played through them and the electrodes measured muscle movement in the ear.

He passed with flying colours and there are no more fears about his hearing ability.

It does make you think about how much you take for granted. There are always risks of a baby being born with any number of conditions. On an almost daily basis we seem to get bombarded with statistics, telling you how there’s a one in so many chance of your child contracting condition X, Y or Z.

Perhaps it’s a sign of optimism on my part that I never spend much time thinking of worst case scenarios, or perhaps it’s more a sign of my complacency and ignorance?

I actually chuckled out loud yesterday at the news that there has been an increase in personal thefts across Britain. Now that in itself is not a reason for amusement, but the advice police have issued is comical.

The reason for the increase in robberies is due to the huge increase in people carrying mobile phones, MP3 players, I-pods etc

Greater Manchester Police have issued the advice that by all means carry these items, but be careful when you use them. You might not want to use the headphones on your MP3 player, to avoid advertising the fact you have one. So if you’re not going to use the MP3 player, why exactly would you want to buy one and carry it in the first place?

I do wish people would realise that the term mobile phones means that the are portable telephones, rather than you have to be mobile whilst using them.

People seem to enter their own little dream world talking into them, or texting whilst walking along. That classic phrase of, if you can’t walk and talk at the same time, do one or the other, never seemed more appropriate.

Testing 1,2

We had to take William for a hearing test yesterday. When he was born he had what looked like a pin prick on the outside of his ear. Apparently this is often a sign of deafness.

It’s become apparent since he’s been at home that there is no question as to his hearing abilities. He’ll be drifting off to sleep and then jumps a mile when one of the other kids drops something!

But an appointment had been made for a hearing test, and we were duty bound to attend.

It turned out to be quite interesting.

My memories of previous hearing tests were the expert standing behind the child and making a noise to one side, checking if they moved in that direction. Hi-tech stuff!

This was far more technical. There were electrodes attached to different parts of his head and then these mini headphones were slipped over his ears. Then sounds were played through them and the electrodes measured muscle movement in the ear.

He passed with flying colours and there are no more fears about his hearing ability.

It does make you think about how much you take for granted. There are always risks of a baby being born with any number of conditions. On an almost daily basis we seem to get bombarded with statistics, telling you how there’s a one in so many chance of your child contracting condition X, Y or Z.

Perhaps it’s a sign of optimism on my part that I never spend much time thinking of worst case scenarios, or perhaps it’s more a sign of my complacency and ignorance?

I actually chuckled out loud yesterday at the news that there has been an increase in personal thefts across Britain. Now that in itself is not a reason for amusement, but the advice police have issued is comical.

The reason for the increase in robberies is due to the huge increase in people carrying mobile phones, MP3 players, I-pods etc

Greater Manchester Police have issued the advice that by all means carry these items, but be careful when you use them. You might not want to use the headphones on your MP3 player, to avoid advertising the fact you have one. So if you’re not going to use the MP3 player, why exactly would you want to buy one and carry it in the first place?

I do wish people would realise that the term mobile phones means that the are portable telephones, rather than you have to be mobile whilst using them.

People seem to enter their own little dream world talking into them, or texting whilst walking along. That classic phrase of, if you can’t walk and talk at the same time, do one or the other, never seemed more appropriate.