Leaving the baby

It's what working mothers have always known, but kept to themselves. Going back to work after a baby, far from being a terrible wrench, is actually a huge relief. Oh, the joy of not smelling permanently of Wet Ones, the bliss of not having to listen to someone else's hideous emergency Caesarean story at the check-out at Sainsbury's and the luxury of being able to read a newspaper with both hands.

According to a new survey of expectant mothers, 79 per cent said they would take the first year off after giving birth. Perhaps they visualised themselves, as I did, sat in front of daytime TV, warming their hands on David Dickinson's Bargain Hunt tan, while simultaneously stuffing their faces with chocolates. Well, you've got to keep your strength up when you're breastfeeding, haven't you? The infant, if he or she does appear in this fantasy, is looking very cute in Baby Gap and sleeping a lot, so as not to disturb maternal small-screen viewing.

The fact is, however, of the almost eight out of 10 mums in the survey who said they'd stay at home, only three did. Proof positive that the reality of being a full-time mother is not exactly a walk in the park.

I went back to work 10 days after Griffin was born. People who heard of my swift return immediately assumed I was some sort of psycho career woman who had a fax in the delivery suite (I didn't) and dictated script changes between contractions (I didn't do that either). Partly, it was because I was prey to that other familiar maternal fantasy - It Won't Change My Life syndrome. I thought you could have a sprog and carry on as before. My cleavage tells a different story.

Still, I mostly went back to work because we needed the money. As the breadwinner, I didn't have the option of sliding under the duvet for six months, even if after some rough nights that's what I felt like doing. Like so many other self-employed mothers who do not qualify for maternity pay, I needed to get out and earn some money and be seen to be doing so, preferably having remembered to remove the organic carrot mush from my hair first.

The survey bears out my experience. Up to 32 per cent of women explained their decision to return to work early as "keeping up with their career". In this era of contract culture, a woman seen to be wallowing in baby bliss is vulnerable to comparison with more driven childless colleagues.

Even if your job is safe, the daily grind of looking after a baby can begin to pall pretty quickly. No office gossip round the photocopier, no nipping out to Starbucks for a cafe latte for elevenses, no one-too-many vodka Red Bulls, then tipping tipsily into a taxi after work. If you're a stay-at-home mum, the nearest you get to cracking open a bottle with your girlfriends is undoing the cap on some Calpol while watching EastEnders.

One of the big problems is the lack of mental stimulation. If the only conversation you get all day is goo goo, ga ga, is it any wonder if your brain atrophies? I have another girlfriend whose husband burst out laughing one night after she'd been at home with her baby for about three months. "Do you realise this is the fourth night in a row we've talked about poo?" he shrieked.

For those accustomed to spending their days setting and achieving goals, not to mention getting pats on the back when they manage this, the monotony of the feed/burp/change cycle can be unrewarding. It's not as if you get a pay rise when you successfully negotiate the buggy round Boots for the first time, is it? The health visitor doesn't send you a herogram if she notices you've got all the poppers on the Babygro done up correctly.

Feeling unappreciated inevitably leads to a plunge in self-esteem (especially if your other half is gaily skipping off to work each morning, leaving you to wipe Marmite off the light fittings) and that leads to one place, and one place only. You've heard of Legoland. Well, the maternal version is Leggingsland.

Playgrounds are full of once-chic females now reduced to sporting comfy, but hideous, clothing. I have developed a nice line in cagoules and trainers - so much more practical for chasing a puddleloving toddler - that I wouldn't have been seen dead in before.

One of the fantastic things about going back to work is that you get to put on proper clothes again. You look in the mirror and think: "Wow! I have got ankles." Still, this effect can be ruined if you do what I did on a number of occasions. I used to wear my nightie over my suit when giving Griffin breakfast before going to work. That way, little sticky hands didn't ruin my pristine appearance.

Unfortunately, I was so knackered from the night feeds, I forgot to take it off and was halfway down the street before I realised my mistake. It wasn't a good look.