Can I have a moan? (parts of this might be sensitive)

Actually I feel less like moaning now than I did earlier, probably because I've partly written this in my head already....

I sometimes feel I'm not allowed to complain - like a child told to eat their dinner because there are starving children in Africa (actually I was never very good with that one either, my mum remembers me telling her to "send it to them then, I don't want it"...)
I constantly remind myself that there are a lot of people who have had an incredible, heart rending, painful journey to parenthood.
People who have had months of hoping and praying as they clutched a stick in the bathroom, people who have had the joy of seeing the blue line, only to then see the red spotting and worse.
People who have suffered the indignity of medical tests, and the struggle to afford treatments. Who's relationships have been tested to breaking point by the question of "who is to blame?" or feeling responsible.
People who have had babies knowing that their hours would be few and their time to bless the world short.
People who have had children full of life one day and torn from them by sudden illness the next.
And I have friends, good friends, who fit into all these groups.

So who am I to moan? My path has been an easy one. Three, healthy, growing boys, and twins (God willing) soon to join them.
How can I complain?

But I do.
I'm tired, really tired.
J is working flat out, he's doing long hours at the office and doing all he can to help at home too.
This morning, when the alarm went, I struggled out of bed, chased the boys to eat breakfast, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, made packed lunches, went upstairs to chase the boys into uniforms and take J some tea, and found him snoring. Words might have been said...

We got the boys to school and I dropped J at the office and ran some errands in town, not much, a quick trip into the M&S food hall for biscuits, a cheque to pay into the bank (bother there's another in my bag I'd forgotten). A wander up to the card shop for a birthday card.
That's where it went wrong. The card shop. They had no cards suitable for a 2 year old girl on display. I asked a staff member who phoned upstairs to get someone to come and help, it took 5 minutes, by now Ben had become bored and escaped.
He was delighted to get the chance to run around the shop, I was not delighted to chase him.
Having caught him I went with the staff member who had stood, dumbly, while I,  clearly struggling, had chased Ben round several displays, to the card section where she pointed out several 2 year old cards in blue, with diggers - now I'd have no issue with this, but it does look a bit like you haven't really bothered when you send a little girl a card clearly aimed at little boys. Grudgingly she got on her knees to look in the drawer "Here" she handed me a dogeared, disney Winnie The Pooh card in pink and blue. And then sat back.
I asked if there was anything else - this isn't a corner shop, it's a big branch belonging the the UK card shop beginning with C you'll all have heard of -  and quite apart from anything else I actually needed two. She sighed and started to look half-heartedly.
By now I'd had enough, so I handed the card back and told her not to bother, that it really wasn't good enough and left.
Or I would have left, except that a little old man, who, to be fair meant no harm, was insistent that I pass through the aisle ahead of him, and I couldn't. Not with Ben still having a tantrum because he wasn't allowed to run free, the shopping bag, the bump and the man himself in my way. "No, you go first" I said. So he decided to talk to Ben.
And I just wanted to leave. Now normally I'd smile and take 5 minutes but I'm afraid I said something polite but dismissive and went down the next aisle.
I abandoned the rest of the chores and we came home.

Two friends came after lunch for a bit which was lovely, really it was.

And then I had to do the school run. Ben was a nightmare, refusing to get into the car - once I finally got him in he fell asleep in about 3 minutes, he's clearly at that stage in his virus where he's better enough to be naughty despite not having the energy to actually do anything.
When we got to school, there was nowhere to park, including the yellow lines that the traffic warden turns a blind eye to at school run time, and the ones he'll still ticket even then. For some reason it was twice as busy as usual.
I drove round the block 4 times becoming increasingly unreasonable in my tearful rant to myself. No one needed a space more than I did. It was pure selfishness that they couldn't leave even one for me.
As I say even at the time I knew this was unreasonable. I paused, put the phone on speaker and rang J. He came out of the office for 10 minutes to run in and fetch them while I continued to drive round the block.

Tonight I might have told one of the children for the first time ever that if they didn't behave I would send then to live with Grandma 'til I had some more energy to deal with them. I've never done that before.

And yet people who hear that I'm not overdue, that I still have about 10 weeks to go, but it's twins, look wistful and say "I'd have loved twins..." REALLY? Really? You'd have chosen this, over having babies one at a time? Because I have to be honest, I wouldn't.