THE life of a working mum continued to keep me on my toes this week.

Thankfully, there was no repeat of Poogate, but in its place there was plenty of mini-drama, culminating in an exhausting Wedding-gate which I still haven’t recovered from.

I can’t believe I ever whinged about getting up in the morning back in my childless days. Then, I only had to wake, get ready and go to work without anyone interfering.

Now I am woken at 6am, not gently by the radio, but instead by the rhythmic and relentless thump of someone’s feet against the end of her cot, perhaps accompanied by a wail or two.

I stagger in to change a nappy, select a suitable outfit based on what the weather might do, before then trying to shower while simultaneously preventing her from getting into any trouble or dropping the contents of my bedroom drawers down the loo.

Oh for the days when I could dry and straighten my hair in peace. These days, I attempt to fix my barnet while a wriggling little person sits on my knee, stands in front of me on my dressing table, grabs the hairbrush and falls off the bed – all while maintaining one eye on children’s television in the background.

And just when I think we’re sorted, washed, clothed, fed and organised, with our respective packed lunches in our respective bags, there will, inevitably, be another little incident.

The other day, for example, she ran, tripped and banged her mouth on the table, meaning that I had to deposit her at the childminder’s door with blood covering her top, hands, and still dripping off her lip. How on earth those with more than one young child cope, I do not know.

The aforementioned first family trip to a wedding ensured that the next time we’re invited to one, we’ll have to source a babysitter.

As she relentlessly ran around the venue, refusing to sleep, sit in a high chair or eat, the other guests certainly enjoyed her antics – but I’m not so sure her father and I did.

He swore he ached for days afterwards as a result of having to chase, carry and push her in her buggy, clocking up countless miles but missing every significant part of the day – the vows, the speeches – into the bargain.

As I tried to prise her fat fingers away from the keyboard of the musician paid to entertain us all through the meal, my face ached as it froze into that certain smile, that unique parental mask which fuses embarrassment, apology, defiance and exhaustion.

Something tells me said mask will reappear frequently over the coming years.