This is how I felt for the last few days, in chronological order:
First; I damaged our dining table with a misterious liquid, or food. It looks awful now, although it is not huge, but you can see a drain of colour on its nice wooden surface, and you don't have to be close to notice. I should have said 'ruined' rather than 'damaged' really.
Next; our mini-man got sick. And it wouldn't have happened, should he had a less careless mother (or a more careful one, but I'm harsh with myself these days, no tarted up version for the public), which involved my negligence of absolutely frantic weather, with wind, rain, and even more wind.
Finally, the washing machine went on strike. Ok, I didn't do anything wrong here, followed all the guidance I could find in the manual (yes, I actually am that manual type of a person; we both are, which sometimes helps in a vivid conversation over, yes, a broken home appliance).
And last night, when I cuddled both of my children to sleep, I finally got that necessary distance, and I started to see things a little bit more clearly, despite the gloomy weather outside, that is. I mean, I used to think I should have lived in Werter times; sometimes I still think that way. But there are limits. No more room for semi romantic indulgence into selfishness. It's high time to get over myself.
After few days (ekhm, possibly even years) of self blaming and self pity, and such full concentration on my own disadvantages that made our last family weekend a dull experience of sleepless nights and zombie days, I think it's enough. Really, enough.