I guess being a working mum is a sure fire way to feel almost constant guilt.

I don’t know why as a parent this is a phenomenon almost exclusively reserved for women but I don’t think there are quite the same amount of working dads with the same niggling feeling.

Perhaps it’s because sometimes we women are our own worst enemies.

Often quick to judge other mums and never able to answer the question of where a woman’s place truly lies.

I have a friend, my oldest and closest friend, who is experiencing now what I went through about eight years ago.

With two very young daughters, she is in the thick of the sleepless nights, wrestling with the feelings of guilt and minor resentment at putting a career on indefinite hold and desperately trying to keep her weary head above water while she treads the treacherous path known as motherhood.

She has very definite views on how children should be looked after and has adopted a totally natural, holistic and child-centred approach to these early years that I have utter respect for.

Her children live in a carefully monitored sugar-free, additive-free, chemical-free world.

Neither have been vaccinated against anything; a point we have had numerous debates about, and not a single drop of that childhood staple, Calpol, has touched their lips. Both girls are happy, well-balanced and are clearly thriving on this lifestyle.

When I look back, I think my approach could well have been described as semi-lazy.

Back at work after four months with each of the three boys, life was a battle to get each baby sleeping for a long enough stretch to allow me to brandish a dental drill without looking like a sleep-deprived maniac.

Within reason, I fed them whatever was easiest.

Supermarket baby food was my staple and I’m rather ashamed to admit that, on more than one occasion, I may well have used the liquid paracetamol Medised to induce sleep.

As the boys have got older, juggling work and childcare hasn’t got any easier.

I still feel a pang when one of them comes home having bombed on a spelling test I didn’t know anything about or I miss the school coffee morning because it’s a work day.

When I see the other kids in the playground with beautifully pressed school uniforms, unhurried mums and packed lunch bags presumably full of hummus and carrot sticks, it’s hard not to feel wistful.

The point is that in order to be able to give every little detail enough thought, I need to generate at least four more hours in the day, or maybe I just need to keep my eyes on the bigger picture.

I’ve come to my own personal conclusion that life is about perspective.

Did I question whether it was the right thing to do to vaccinate my kids? No I didn’t.

But on the other hand, I don’t really see a downside to it.

They may have been weaned on non-organic baby food from a jar but they seem to look pretty good on it.

Only time will tell whether the fact I missed the African drumming display given by year two because I was in the middle of a root filling will leave a lasting effect on my youngest.

We all choose to do things differently and as I wade on through the joyous, but sometimes utterly demoralising job of being a mum, I’ll never really know whether the choices I have made were right.