The fallacy of Superwoman

Like Cherie and other mothers of my generation, I believe women can "Have It All" ... Yes, but not all at once. We have never had to be so many women at once - and it's exhausting. We now have to be the Domestic Goddess, doing Sensitive Things with snow peas and sun-drying our own tomatoes. The Shoulder- Padded Career Woman with a couple of venture-capital portfolios tucked up each sleeve, inducing our babies so as not to miss that meeting, then going back to work 24 hours after the episiotomy.

It's also important to be The Earth Mother busily improving baby's "gross motor skills" (What on earth does that mean? Driving a tacky car?). The Sex Goddess, who understands that the Kamasutra is not an Indian takeaway in Camden Town. The Housewife Superstar, spraying tiny pine cones silver for the home-made potpourri to hand around the office at Christmas - and never, ever letting the sun set on an empty slowcooker in our spotless Conran kitchens.

Obviously, we also need to employ a team of people to sleep, eat and have friendships on our behalf because, God knows, we don't have the time for any of those mundanities.

But as we working mothers sob from our psychiatric-unit beds that we wouldn't feel fulfilled if we didn't work and have babies, we're secretly starting to feel duped by the Superwoman myth.

The way you feel duped after a facial and the beautician has talked you into £100-worth of Swiss rehydration cream and pore- pampering gel you don't need and can't afford.

The Superwoman myth led me to believe that having a baby would be no more demanding than, say, getting a goldfish. The Superwoman myth led me to believe that my boss would be totally understanding when motherhood left me a few nappies short of the full load.

The Superwoman myth did not explain that babies resemble the most selfish, demanding lover you've ever had. Always hungry, but won't eat what you cook. Always tired, yet won't sleep. Tossing things all over the house, yet never picking up after himself. Throwing tantrums, yet never saying he's sorry. And possessive! A baby is jealous of other people coming anywhere near you. He hates you being on the phone. He won't even let you go to the loo on your own. All day long he just sits around in his vest, waiting to be amused. Which is difficult, as you no longer have a social life.

The Superwoman myth did not explain that turning up late for work, no matter if your baby has been up all night projectile vomiting, never goes over well with your boss. It goes over, in fact, like Pavarotti over a pole vault.

Britain is groaning beneath weighty statues of mouldy old governors and long-forgotten politicians. What I want to see are statues to "The Unknown Soldier - a mother of five." I want an inscription that reads: "A Toddler and a Day Job."

I mean, imagine a job description of motherhood - "Hours: constant. Time off: zilch. Pay: zero. All food and entertainment supplied by you. Must be good at athletics, home repairs, making mince interesting and finding the pair to the other glove. Fringe benefits: none. Would you take this job? Especially when you've already got one.

I use to envisage my future kinder frolicking at my perfectly pedicured feet. Hell - my family was going to make the Waltons look depressed! But, in reality, I'm just a demented kid-and-careerjuggler who is constantly dropping things.

I now know that, outside American sitcoms, the Superwoman does not exist. And that any working mum (now there's a tautology-who says she copes all the time is either lying or taking a lot of drugs.

So, mums, don't pole-vault on to that particular Superwoman pedestal. Because, like anything on a pedestal, real life flows on past, leaving you lonely, exposed and covered in bird shit.

TIPS FOR WORKING MOTHERS:

1. "Controlled crying" is the art of not shattering into tears when your toddler wipes Marmite all over your new Moschino.

2. A "balanced meal" is whatever stays on the spoon en route to baby's mouth.

3. Don't try to be a sex goddess. The only thing a working mother wants in bed is breakfast.

4. The answer to "Who's mamma's lovely baby boy then?" is - your husband.

5. The only response to a baby monitor is to talk into it and say: "I'm sorry, but the working mother you are trying to reach is temporarily disconnected. Please try again later."

Kathy Lette's latest novels are Nip'n' Tuck and Puberty Blues.