1) Valentine’s Day.

Yes, this beautiful Hallmark-sponsored public declaration of love irritates me. Not because I’m bitter. Not because my beautiful husband fails in any way. No, it’s because this year I have Instagram envy.

By the time you’re reading this, I will have had a gorgeous dinner at La Milano with my incredible life partner, followed by lovely local wine, probably overpriced flowers, and an evening of romance only experienced by parents of older children who sleep through the night.

What I actually requested (after drunkenly watching endless Instagram reels with my sister last week) was a night by myself seated outside the aforementioned Italian restaurant, shouting “Well YOU moved on quickly!” at couples as they walk in.

2) The fact that my sister and I do not live close enough to co-host a top-rating podcast.

Instead, we have normal jobs, and the only people who benefit from our hilarity are our husbands (who do not seem to find us funny) and everyone who dined at Lord’s Place Thai last Thursday.

To be clear, none of them seemed to find us funny either.

3) Perimenopause.

The lack of menstruation has resulted in iron levels I’ve never previously experienced but that’s apparently where the benefits end.

Not only am I battling chin hairs and a moustache that would make a group of 13-year-old boys weep with admiration, but I now appear to exist in a permanent state of PMS. I’m forgetful. I’m grumpy. People cannot drive properly. And now I’ve annoyed myself and forgotten where I was going with this.

4) Choosing dinner every night.

I genuinely thought this would be my favourite part of motherhood, after surviving meals like shepherd’s pie and lamb cutlets with “mixed mash” (don’t ask) as a child in the 80s.

As a teenager, I took over cooking for my family and LOVED it. We ate some variation of chicken stir fry (very exotic for the 90s) almost every night, and it was the best time of my life.

Now, Hubby doesn’t like stir fry. Miss 17 prefers her foods not touching. Miss 11 would prefer beef bourguignon, which I cannot afford to cook.

I have now come full circle. Shepherd’s pie is back on the meal plan this week.

5) Avoiding carcinogens.

Look, I’ve become cancer-paranoid, and it’s ruining my social life. I avoid the sun between eleven and four. I’ve given up delicious deli meats like triple-smoked ham and cabanossi. And, until my sister arrived with two bottles of See Saw Prosecco, I was staying away from wine.

I miss eating meat lovers’ pizza while day-drinking outside, and I’m starting to wonder if any of this is worth it. But I have my eyes on the prize, and I want to ring that end-of-treatment bell this year more than I want a BLT.

6) The “Let Them” theory.

If you listen to podcasts to escape your dreary life like I do, you’ll know all about this. Apparently, it’s the new way of living happily: stop controlling and stop caring so much about other people’s opinions.

Please understand that you can pry my control issues from my cold, dead hands. After you’ve followed my funeral directions and read the eulogy I’ve pre-written.

Am I living happily? Probably not. But I can micromanage every aspect of everyone around me, and that brings me constant joy.

7) Back-to-school routine.

This one is a bit hard to admit, because routine is so good for Miss 17’s autism, and I live in hope it will be good for Miss 11, who might finally remember both a hat and a drink bottle on the same day.

But this year I’m just tired, and I’ve spent the last few months with everyone home and reasonably self-reliant. As such, I’ve taken to napping not only every day, but often twice a day. In the last week of holidays we took the kids out to breakfast. I came home, threw up and slept for 22 hours straight.

It’s not that I don’t want routine back, it’s just that it’s hard fitting in all the rest I need with kids at school, work, and sport. Apparently, good-enough parenting requires stamina. Wish me luck!