Weary, weary, weary.

Dot's like, I know work has got really busy but that's no reason I shouldn't wake you up three times a night just to check you're still there.

Plus I feel like all I've done this week is work, cook and wash up. Yes, I know this is my lot as a working mother and that compared to most I'm terribly lucky, but last night I had a small tantrum on the hubby. "I just want a dishwasher," I whinged, "I don't care how environmentally unfriendly they are." I think I even stamped my feet. "Leave it. I'll do the washing up in the morning then," he offered. But I've been at home with a baby and I know it isn't that easy to do the washing up so I did it anyway.

When I got home this evening I decided I simply couldn't face cooking another thing - or more accurately, I couldn't face another day where all I do once I've put Dot to bed is cook, puree, freeze, wash up and crash out. Trouble is, the hubby decided the same thing - or at least decided he was at least as hard done by as me and as such, shouldn't be expected to cook either. "We could get take out," he said on the phone from the pub, his voice suggesting he knew exactly how well that suggestion would go down. "No," I said in a tone which brooked no dissent, for I have completely outlawed take out. "Alright, I'll get you some pasta from the shop on the way home," he sighed.

So I'll admit it - being green is sometimes hard work. My hands are dry and itchy, my back aches, last night we ate a disaster that didn't pass for mashed potato and I haven't exercised, read the news, spoken to a friend or relaxed in, oh I don't know, a while.

But at least I don't have any unrecyclable take out containers on my conscience. And only one more day till the weekend.