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.