Not meaning to, but being ungrateful nonetheless

I had a bit of a difficult morning the other week, one of a few things that have contributed to a bout of insularity. The baby has been waking up in the night for the past month or so, which has been shocking because she's slept through for the past six months. So I'd had a rough night, I was past my prime on the cleanliness front - no shower for three days, pyjamas getting on a bit.

As I blankly stared into the garden while fumbling with last night's dishes, I noticed a woman in the garden next door. I've never seen her before, so I decided she must be someone's girlfriend. For some reason, that struck me as quite glamorous. Illicit. Was she going to work in yesterday's clothes? How naughty. She was wearing a vidid green mac, tightly belted, and her hair was swept up, and she was smoking a cigarette. She was elegant, I haven't shaved my legs in months. Then when I turned on the computer, I found a change of address email from a friend who's just moved to New York for a glamourous job, bloated salary, and year-round access to Purl Soho and Grand Sichuan.

I don't mean to be ungrateful for what I have, and I don't think I sound terribly coherent, but these two unconnected incidents touched a nerve, and underlined some weariness I have felt lately over how all-consuming parenthood is. I feel as though I have blinkers on, and can't shake them off. I feel disconnected from the rest of the world, and fearful about going back this summer to a job I sometimes love, but often find frustrating. It annoys me that I feel this way, though, because it's such a cliche. And it's not as if I was glamourous before the baby, or that we had such a scintillating social life, or that my "career" was on a rocket.

In another development, I've been tagged by Rebecca. My first tag. In blogland, does that mean I've arrived? I feel all bashful.

1. I speak French, and went to a French school in London. One day, while on the tube home with some kids from my school, one of them, a particularly homornal teenage boy, made a lewd comment about a couple travelling opposite us. It turned out they were French, and it all got a bit embarrassing. Ever since, whenever I hear French people while out and about, I have to prepare in my head what I will say to them if they say something rude about me.

2. I choose where to go on holiday on the basis of what kind of food I will be able to eat there. I like visiting museums and doing "cultural things", but mostly I want to wander around local supermarkets and then go have lunch. I also have to take pictures of what I eat, to my own considerable embarrassment. We stayed at a fancy ryokan in Japan on honeymoon, where we served an elaborate meal in our room. After each course arrived, I had to wait until the waitress left the room to take pictures. (If you want to fantasise about some spectacular ryokans, take a look here.)

3. I am mysteriously attracted to glasses put on the floor, and will always manage to knock them over, wherever they are. As a result, all of our glasses are made out of toughened glass.

4. I often go through phases of wanting to wear make-up, and will buy a lipstick, or an eyeshadow, but I only use them once before I decide that I can't wear make-up because it makes me look... weird.

5. I still like Kraft Dinner, an appalling combination of macaroni and radio-active orange cheese. I think it's because I left home - Canada - before I could grow out of it. It's a bit of a family joke, I always bring some back when I visit, and my cousin sometimes indulges me by sending me a packet for Christmas. I get very angry when Moot's dad has some, because he adulterates it with pepper and Thai chili sauce. He just does not get it.

6. I have never knowingly discarded a letter. Only the advent of email has saved me from living in a six foot square space tunnelled out of towers of paper.