One of my friends laughed at me; I was the only mum she knew who thought she could achieve anything other than leaving the house. It’s taken six months to come to the conclusion she was right because it’s all down to one thing and one thing only: sleep. Those little zzz’s hold the key to a mother’s ability to take on “extra” activities, oh and keeping her sanity.

“You know when you’re just really tired?” a non-mum friend asked me recently. “Yeaaaahhhh,” I said tentatively, wondering why she would want to rub it in?

“No, but I mean really tired, like so tired that your brain doesn’t function properly.”

Hmmm, let me think about that. Yes I think I can relate to that, considering my brain hasn’t actually functioned at all during the past six months. That patronising saying “You don’t understand unless you have kids” definitely rings true at times.

On the odd occasion, perhaps once a month, I have had a decent night’s sleep, and by decent I mean five uninterrupted hours in a row. When this happens I am ready to face any amount of baby melt-downs, explosive poos, sick and teething tantrums. I may even keep on top of housework, pay bills on time and recoup a social life. But if we don’t (I speak on behalf of all new mums I know), tackling the bare minimum seems a struggle and the most ridiculous of situations can make you cry within seconds, such as forgetting to buy batteries for the baby bouncer.

What other jobs do you know that don’t require qualifications, expect you to endure the equivalent of climbing a mountain (labour) and start off feeling the most exhausted you have ever felt? Why would your brain then reward you for all your hard work with insomnia?

Stupid brain. If I’m not awake at night because the baby needs me, I’m awake wondering why she hasn’t woken up or doing that annoyingly pointless thing of calculating how long I probably have left to sleep before I have to get up again. But who knows when Aurora will wake up? It’s sleep roulette at its finest and the game my brain loves to play.

When the brain finally gives in and lets me doze off, 99 per cent of the time I will be rudely awoken right in the middle of a dream, dazed and confused, to the sound of baby crying. Now that’s just scary, the stuff of horror films!

So what happens to you after six months of bad nights?

A sense of achievement now comes in the form of ironing a big pile of freshly-washed baby clothes. Assembling different combinations of tops, leggings, dungarees and dresses for the next two weeks feels just as rewarding as running that half marathon.

Never before have I ironed; I am a firm believer in wrinkles falling out when clothes are worn.

Yet here I am on my Friday night thoroughly enjoying myself. It then had to be pointed out by my husband that the word I was looking for wasn’t wrinkles but in fact ‘creases’. Oh dear....