It's probably seasonal. And/or hormonal. I certainly have bog-all to complain about: my children are NT, charming and stunningly beautiful (and DD1 leaves me notes saying 'Mum I love yoy xxxx'); my partner is really very nice, I suppose, and is finally solvent - indeed earns more than me now; my own work-life balance is broadly OK; my career, although not brilliant, is quite reasonable not least because I can now stop doing as many paid-by-the-day editing jobs I did, and work on a trade mag a couple of days a week. I have friends who'll babysit and/or can now afford paid options.
But it's still...custardly. And endless stream of the yellow stuff. I am simultaneously possessed by the urge to bog off from all of them for a weekend, and utter horror at the thought of leaving my delightful Inferiorettes. My career, although quite reasonable, is not brilliant. Sorting out babysitting is still sorting it out - it's very different from the kind of family support some people have - and in practice we just don't go out much. I'm fed up. In a somewhat wallowy way, of course. I want a sodding break.