I got up early this morning, all fired up to get a couple of hours writing down before my darling son emerged. Being a conscientious mother I let him stay up until gone 11 last night, secure in the knowledge he wouldn't crawl from his room for, ooh, at least another eleven hours.
Or maybe not. Seven thirty he bounces into the garage where I have my computer (okay it's a converted garage!) red eyed and bushy tailed. Do I greet him with open arms and loving words?
'What are you doing up at this time?' I demand, seeing my plans for finishing Chapter 8 of my WIP gurgling down the drain. 'Go back to bed!'
Half an hour later, consumed with guilt and a rumbling stomach, I seek him out, only to discover he'd woken early because of a nightmare.
Ouch. Sometimes I just know I'm the worst mother in the world.