Don't expect any sympathy or respite.
This morning, I woke up with a persistent cold that I've had for about a fortnight.
Knowing I had a full day ahead, I just swallowed some aspirin, had a cup of tea and got on with making packed lunches, washing and dressing and doing hair.
Feeling terrible and with 15 minutes to get ready myself, I slapped on some make up - aka Polyfilla - and rubbed Vicks on my chest before heading out the door for work.
I battled through the day, subbing stories and briefing projects into Design, with a throat that felt coated with broken glass and my face feeling like it might implode.
But instead of celebrating five o'clock, I felt filled with dread at going home to my next job as mum of two.
It's just that I knew what lay ahead: making dinner, washing up, tantrums and just generally more work.
So when my partner offered to make the tea, I decided to be selfish and run myself a hot, Radox-infused bath to help ease my cold and soothe my aching muscles.
Two minutes into my bath (I hadn't yet eased myself into the water enough to lie back), the door bursts open, with my eldest shouting "Are you finished yet, mum? I need a poo".
Next, the doorbell rings and there's kids in the hall - hanging about with the front door wide open inviting the draft in while my daughter finishes her 'business' and, of course, leaves the bathroom door wide to the world.
This only serves to remind me that I've asked my partner countless times to fit a new lock on the bathroom door so, through gritted teeth, I start to wash my weary skin.
Cue my younger daughter, who decides she wants to get in and it's a struggle to stop her from clambering into the far too hot water. She's stripped off never-the-less so daddy volunteers me to give her a nice bath once I'm done.
Once she realises she IS getting in, there's no way she's budging an inch.
There goes my nice, relaxing and therapeutic bath.
And so the night becomes about me bathing the kids, chasing them around the living room to get dressed, drying hair and putting them to bed - pretty much how the day began but in reverse order.
That'll teach me to be selfish.
