How will this work?

How is it supposed to work exactly - when I get start this new job? Husband has been living a somewhat pampered existence (he would dispute this) with my routine as follows: (sorry in advance if this sends you to a slumber - it sent me on anti-depressants) 8:15 up with sproglet. Make him breakfast. Hang with him while he eats and try to wake up. Sproglet plays with toys, I make him two nutritious meals to take with him to child minder and pack his bag - usually involving stir fries, boiling noodles, potatoes, carrots, grilling chicken etc. Try being Jamie Oliver every day - it is exhausting! Dress him. Tidy his room. Put on wash. Put out wash. Put away dried washing. Shower. Sproglet does Nemo or Monsters Inc. Tidy house for prospective buyers/tenants (hiding every sign of us living here) - this takes forever. In our small flat all storage space is full to the MAX. Latest spot - hide all under sproglet's cot. Dress - try to be creative, give up and wear usual jeans, white vest top under black top ensemble. Dry hair, spot of make up to try and look human. By this stage it is normally noon. Husband - sleeps.

Take sproglet to childminder and script read, organise house move, food shop to make sure sproglet has milk, wipes, cereal, eggs etc. etc. etc. Forget gyming it - body combat and my waist have gone by the wayside in this hectic era. Go through solicitor's papers, call mortgage man, try and pick a bed etc. Those 6 hours go mighty quickly.

6pm get sproglet back (this is only on Tues/Wed/Thurs - other days I have sproglet all day). Play for an hour, visit the park. Bath him, dress him, bottle and story. 8pm make myself dinner. Collapse on sofa. Notice how sofa needs cleaning. Wash bedding, towels etc. Normally watch all TV dramas to find new writers and to know my soaps inside out in order to find work. Riveting day eh? Sorry - are you still there? Thank god, thought you had gone to open a vein.

How will I ever juggle a full time job, sproglet and looking after a house (plus the move??) It took me all afternoon yesterday to research child care in our new neck of the woods - and we have only two possible nurseries - one of which may be full!! My lists are endless. Husband - sleeps - oh and works. Kind of like a bar vampire.

How we will juggle our lives and careers and a small child in between - with me working days and him nights? Will we see each other? Will he ever see sproglet? I voice these worries and he shushes me. It will all work out he says. I want to kill him as what he means is - you will somehow cope with full time job (described by one BBC exec as 'the hardest two years of your life') and picking up sproglet and taking him to nursery, and the house move and being able to do the shop/housework etc. I will try. I want to keep up Samaritans too - yes, I will be s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d beyond belief. But hey - better to be busy than bored. But oh my god - how appealing does an afternoon of Danielle Steel trash movies and cupcakes feel now eh?

When I read that the non-entity singer/model/whatever-I-can-be-that-doesn't-require- any-training Lisa B has written a 'lifestyle book' I wanted to vomit on her. How dare someone who is married to a property tycoon multi-millionaire, replete with nannies and housekeepers and the like - try and tell ME how to have a perfect lifestyle!!! How to throw a well catered dinner party, have no cellulite and teach my kids yoga and find the ultimate truffle. I want to invite her round for a day at chez crummy mummy and then see what she advises. Why the vacuous rich idle away their days as yummy mummies telling us mere mortals how to live our lives - I have no idea. Will I buy this book? I would rather have a smear test every day for the rest of my life.The pictures of this book show Lisa in cashmere casual wear (think The White Company) in a yoga position, with fruit bowl in front of her, on a white daybed staring out at her lake. Yes, that's right - lake. Next to her mansion in the country. This woman isn't giving us advice on how to get through the day sans breakdown - she is smugly going 'look what I have. Unattainable - get me!' If she is a woman's woman I will eat my bra. In the photos there is not a puke stain, mushed tangerine or greasy hair in sight. It is all tranquility spa, fluffy and white. It is about as realistic as Jordan's breasts.

Vent over.

Ok - I am off to wake or murder husband. Not sure which.

Is it wrong to crave a martini at 11:15am?