With a newborn baby in the house, you won't find yourself short of friends. There will be herds of them flocking round to take a peek at the new addition, dirty all your cups and occupy all your chairs. This doesn't actually count as proper social interaction because all you ever talk about is the baby and blow-by-blow accounts of your labour. Should conversation accidentally stray back to world events you will pretty soon find yourself wresting it back to cracked nipples and the colour of poo. Don't worry, new mothers, this is a relatively short phase that you go through and your true friends will forgive you for it eventually.

Sooner or later you may venture out with baby for a real social gathering. I remember doing this - it was ghastly. Our daughter was only a few weeks old, we were both dog tired but went to a 50th birthday party one Sunday afternoon. It was hardly a riotous occasion, the baby slept throughout, but the worst thing about it was the sudden realization that I had absolutely no conversation. Having answered the usual questions about sex, age and name (hers, not mine) my exhausted brain ground to a halt and I had to sidle off to find someone else I could bore rigid. All I could think was "If she can sleep through a party, why can't she sleep through the bloody night?".

It did get better as she got older, but we pretty soon realized that childless couples make poor lunch companions when you have a toddler in tow. Sick of apologizing, explaining and then apologizing again we decided to turn down any further invitations to childless homes - assuming that we would ever get any again, which was far from certain. But far better to socialize with other families - the kids can play together and leave the adults in peace to chat. In reality, the kids turn out not to like each other very much, become querulous and demanding and there is very little chance of actually starting a proper conversation, let alone finishing one. As a variation on a theme, a couple of times a friend and I took our children to a Wacky Warehouse. In theory, we could have tea and a chat while the kids threw themselves around with reckless abandon, getting tired enough for a good long nap in the afternoon. It was a good theory, but the constant fear of broken limbs rather ruined my concentration on important gossip - plus, I never imagined that my social life would be accompanied by such an overpowering odour of smelly feet. It was a totally dispiriting place - and a complete waste of a decent boozer in my opinion.

So you can still see your friends, but if you don't want to be constantly distracted, unable to relax and rather irritated, don't take the kids.

Some friends may drift away from you and your new status as harassed parent. If they don't appreciate that you may no longer regard getting shit-faced in a smoky club as your idea of fun - I say let 'em drift. If you still want a social life as a parent you will have to give some things up. Sunday afternoons in a quiet pub with a pint and the papers I relinquished with regret and the promise that I'll do it again when our daughter is grown. Furious clubbing and Leicester Square on a Saturday night I thrust from my life with something like relief, rather than regret.

We have both, however, come to the realization that the ways we enjoy ourselves nowadays seem to be subtly (or actually, not subtly at all) dictated by what our daughter likes doing. A few weeks ago my husband suddenly got a yen to go to Paris for a weekend. What a lovely idea, I thought. Of course, it would have to be a weekend when our daughter didn't have her dance classes, but it would be great. I haven't seen Paris for years, wandered down the banks of the Seine, enjoyed the boulevards and cheese shops. Then it struck us that our idea of a weekend break didn't really match up to hers. She's seen the adverts, and so if we say 'Paris' she'll say 'Disneyland'. If she gets the idea that this lovely delicatessen is in fact not very far away from a giant mouse we've got absolutely no chance of quiet strolls around the Marais or leisurely drinks at pavement cafés. We didn't go.

There's no getting round it, unless you have pots of money and qualified nannies at your disposal your social life is going to suffer. I once heard a story about a woman who did try to get round it - and failed. She was refused admission to a cinema with a sleeping baby in a sling on the bizarre excuse that the child was too young to see the film. Despite her protestations that of course she would leave immediately if the baby woke up, the real reason was apparent: babies are not welcome everywhere. Quite right, too, I have to admit. I hate to see children in pubs - it's not a suitable environment for them and if you want to sit in a smoky bar you should get a babysitter or stay at home. And while I might be prepared to put up with somebody else's bawling mite on a train or a plane where there's not much anyone can do about it, I rather take against my appreciation of a film or a play being spoilt by a constant high-pitched yell. I can get enough of that at home. There, I've said it. You really do have to make compromises when you have children.

But it's really not so bad. Replacing cocktail parties with picnics is what it's all about, really. We may occasionally complain that we haven't seen an adult film in the cinema for years (nearly seven, if I'm honest) then it's our fault for not organizing proper babysitting. And I'm really looking forward to Shrek 2. I'm not really worried about my rather pedestrian social life. What worries me is when our daughter is old enough to get her own rather more exciting one. Oh, God.

I think every mother-to-be should be issued with this book along with the mother to be pack. It would save a lot of heartache particularly for first time mothers, as they would realise that there is no such thing as a 'perfect mother'. If you're not showered or dressed before lunchtime in the early days after the birth it's OK, as long as baby and Mum are happy and healthy.

Helen

Click here to read Helen's full book review.

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