There are more days than I feel comfortable admitting when I am truly surprised that I have been deemed responsible enough to be in joint charge of three children.

Somehow we have struggled and bumbled through a milestone 10 years of parenting, learning as we go and attempting to minimise psychological trauma to our hapless charges.

Back in the balmy summer of 2003, I don’t think I had a clue about the rollercoaster ahead. Wrapped up in a maternal fog of newborn naivety I spent a glorious summer pureeing fruit, photographing every 10 minutes of the day and strolling slightly smugly (with hindsight) around Blenheim Palace for endless hours with my newfound baby pals.

Conversations rarely strayed away from paediatric bowel movements and nap times. It was in these early days that the dreaded book of the time by the ever-so-slightly Nazi-esque Gina Ford: Contented Little Baby was published.

Almost anyone I have ever met with a child born circa 2000 has dabbled with this hideous manual that I am now sure was only published to add to feelings of total incompetence in newbie parents.

As the Dr Spock of its day the gist of the book is that if you follow the military style routines TO THE MINUTE, your precious bundle will duly reward you with at least eight hours of unbroken sleep. As any new parent will tell you, especially a working one, sleep actually is the Holy Grail.

Aware that I was returning to work, albeit part time when son and heir was four months old, desperation caused me to blindly place my faith in Gina. I'll be honest, this book is not total rubbish and on the odd days that the routines came together I worshipped Ms Ford. My first day back at the dental practice arrived.

The thought of returning to work had felt a bit like a noose slowly tightening around my neck. ‘Will my dearest Son be neglected at the hands of uncaring nursery staff?’ ‘Will they cuddle him if he cries?’ ‘Will they stick to the damn routine?’ A dose of reality and a realisation the answer was yes to all of the above, my biggest obstacle was masking sleep deprivation.

There were many days when I wished for patients to cancel just so I could get a 20 minute power nap in the comfortable dentist’s chair.

To my surprise, I soon realised that there was an upside. The chance to resume adult conversations and even a hour's lunch break. Strangely even being splattered in saliva was a welcome change to baby poo.

Those early months were often spent denying my narcoleptic state to my patients. Acutely aware that no one would choose to have a bleary-eyed dentist with a high speed drill coming any closer that 10 feet away, Nescafe became my best friend.

It did take nearly three years before we were braced enough to repeat the experience. Son number two arrived to a much less dramatic fanfare.

The book was ditched and quite bizarrely, it appeared we had actually got ourselves a contented little baby. Back to work after another four months and I thought I had it cracked. Never fear, baby number three arrived rather hastily and soon reminded me you really can’t have it all.

As a working mum, I have been able to have a go at the best of both worlds, some might say struggling at both. Please don’t think I am judging mums who choose to stay at home, but I know that I am a better mum because I go to work as well.

It’s not for everyone but I wouldn’t change my situation for anything. I hope my boys don’t grow up to be axe murderers, scarred by a mother who abandoned them to tend to teeth. Life is about balance and no-one has all the answers.