My husband gave me a funny look, which was in response to my funny look. "Why are you squinting?" he asked.

"Because I have iritis again," I said, giving him a big wink with my right eye.

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Stress," I replied. "Brought on by looking after our children."

My iritis, which is a painful inflammation of the inner regions of my eye, usually flares up when I suddenly feel unable to cope with things.

My memories of some of the most significant moments of my life - the day we moved house, the day before I got married, the day I had a massive row with a boyfriend (now an "ex") - are rose-tinted largely because my eyes were bloodshot at the time.

Fortunately, doctors give me steroid drops, which eventually restore my vision to normal. But it bugs me a lot that the minute my stress levels begin to rise, the condition recurs.

I can pinpoint when this latest bout began. My husband was doing a couple of extra shifts at work to help pay off some car repair debts and I had the prospect of six days of constant childcare.

I woke up last Saturday worrying about the week ahead and within the hour I was making an appointment at the eye hospital.

You would think that, being their mother, I could easily handle our toddler and our five-year-old. It's hardly a classload of kids and I do know them exceptionally well.

But add in the factors that our five-year-old is missing school, our toddler is going through a stroppy phase and the weather has rarely dipped below 90 - and, in my case, you get a stress overload.

In truth, our children aren't more difficult than most. Our five-year-old's demure and polite behaviour has often been admired.

But that doesn't mean she is beyond ignoring my requests for her to put her shoes on, or get into the bath, or to stop hosing the shed while the rest of the garden remains bone dry.

She has also entered a hard-to-please state of mind, whereby all my suggestions for her usual favourite activities are greeted by an uncompromising "no!"

It took bribery and persuasion the other day to get her to come to the park, which was ridiculous given that I have also spent many hours bribing her to get out of it.

Perhaps it was the heat that convinced my daughter the only activity worth doing was watching her Barbie Rapunzel video.

Our toddler, a big bonny boy with a ready chuckle, is often delightful company. But should anyone slight him - for instance, refusing him anything he wants - his fists come up and anyone within range gets a black eye.

This week he has decided to hit out at anyone before they have slighted him, as a sort of insurance policy. Consequently, he was not popular with any of the children, or their carers, when we made our reluctant excursion to the park While I struggled to strap the lad into his buggy, I then had to plead with his big sister to leave the swings and come home with us that instant.

"Why are you putting tears in your eyes," asked my daughter when she saw me administering my drops. "Are you feeling sad?"

"No, no, sweetheart, it's medicine for my eyes," I said, smiling through my tears.

"Oh that's all right then," she said, and ran back to the swings.