I found this very sad, to be frank:
The lies started when my eldest son was less than ten months old.
Invitations to attend a child's birthday party or, worse, a singalong session were met with the same refrain: 'I would love to but I just can't spare the time.'
The nanny was dispatched in my place, and almost always returned complaining that my son had been singled out for pitiful stares by the other mothers.
I confess that I was probably ogling the merchandise at Harvey Nichols or having my highlights done instead. Of course I love my children as much as any mother, but the truth is I found such events so boring that I made up any excuse.
I can't say which activity I dreaded more: playing Pass The Parcel at parties with a child who permanently crawled away from the action towards the priceless knick-knacks, or listening to the other mothers go on about such excitements as teething and potty-training. Mind-numbing!
To be honest, I spent much of the early years of my children's lives in a workaholic frenzy because the thought of spending time with them was more stressful than any journalistic assignment I could imagine.
She's catching hell all over about this, and I saw her son (the one on the right in the picture) tell a reporter that if he were a stay-at-home mother, he'd "take to drink." In truth I feel more pity than ire about this, but I couldn't resist leaving this comment beneath the column (which has been deleted, probably for the initial profanity despite my clever disguise):
Boo f#$%ing hoo. If you weren't prepared to sacrifice anything and everything for your children, why did you have any? Too bad for them, I suppose.