Out of Sorts

I wish I was a baby again. Alexander woke up grumbling because he wanted a drink.

I, however, have been dragged into the ninth circle of property hell.We have spent the last several months (if you have been following, you'll know) flailing around in a sea of unresolved customer service 'issues'. The actual problems we've had have either been quite small and exacerbated by or exclusively caused by incompetence of people not interested in doing a decent job. I can't understand this. It's a basic level of operation with me that I'd make the best fist of anything I'm doing, and I do rather expect that of others...

I can't help thinking post-natal hormones have not helped in my ability to deal with this stress. I assume it is some sort of misdirected lioness-defending-her-young motivation that makes me wish to grab roofers by the throat etc etc instead of laughing it off like I normally would. But I really feel Alexander is suffering, because I am so fixated on sorting out these messes he's rather left to his own devices. I did give him a drink though.

Anyway, sorry for moaning. Normal service will be resumed.