I’m good at selfish. I’ve had years of practice. But it’s not so clear what it means as a working mother. A manicure? A massage “because you’re worth it”? What’s the point, if you begrudge every minute? For me, the desire to be with my children is physical, like an elastic band stretching. I can’t be away for too long. For those of us who plan our lives in half-hour slots, liberation is the creation of extra minutes. Yesterday, a colleague told me that her husband had repaired her watch and set it fast without telling her. “I was fuming,” she said. “I’d arrive everywhere with ten minutes to spare and couldn’t use the time productively.” Such is the life of those who have it all: military-style planning and sheer exhaustion.

This week, a YouGov poll of 1,736 mothers in First magazine demonstrates how profoundly unhappy many mothers are with living this way. More than half feel guilty about time spent away from their children. Two thirds think that mothers should stay at home with their babies and toddlers during the first few years — though nationally, less than half do. A third would like to reduce their working hours, and more than a third say they would give up work altogether if they could. They do not seem to say that because they think they should. A staggering 41 per cent answered “no” to the question: “Do you feel happy and confident with the care your children receive when you’re at work?” That is terrible, a nagging worry debilitating in itself. Too many women are rushing back to placate the childminder they don’t really trust.

Most working mothers are in jobs, not careers. Only about 12 per cent of working women are in professional or managerial roles, and two thirds of them work full-time. The majority of non-professional mothers work part-time. They clearly regard family life as more important. Yet they feel they are failing at it. Barely a third of all the mothers questioned by First thought that they were fulfilling their role as a mother “very well”: they gave the fathers higher marks. A third said their children (average age 10) swore in their presence. Many also felt deeply uncomfortable at the prospect of putting elderly relatives into an old people’s home rather than look after them themselves. They are instinctively what Professor Alison Wolf, of King’s College London, recently termed “female altruists” — women who in the past did voluntary work, looked after relatives and brought up the next generation. And who diminish society when they squeeze that altruism to take the job in reception.

Even in those of us who spent our twenties being staunchly independent and focused on our careers, motherhood has managed to tap a selfless gene: not only because stocking the fridge solely with Smirnoff and half a lemon was no longer an option, but also because we suddenly became the anchor of a household, required to balance others’ needs. Pregnancy has certainly imbued me with a new tenderness towards the sick and infirm. Carrying buggies up countless stairs has made me much readier to offer others a helping hand — and to notice if they need one.

An older generation will tease me for naivety, but some of the joys of reciprocation have been a revelation. I have several friends who felt they lost their edge at work after having children: not just because they were tired, but because they felt torn trying to play selfish at work and selfless at home. And most of us find that trying to do selfless part-time ends in us having temper tantrums to match our toddlers.

What is strange is that the women who state in surveys that they value family life also sound strangely passive.

Let me explain. We live at a time of greater opportunities for women, of greater job flexibility, of higher average incomes, than at any period in history. Yet we increasingly talk as though we have no control over our lives. We are the first generation to feel that we cannot afford to bring up our own children. Sixty per cent of those sampled by YouGov say that they have no choice but to work, to meet basic needs. In some cases this will undoubtedly be true — and the survey is not entirely representative (although the sample is large, so it is hard to be precise). Yet we also know that many women earn barely enough to cover the costs of childcare. Some families are struggling with serious debt. But why? Have some of us become the victims of relentless material expectations?

The average family in the First survey own three TV sets. Their children have a TV, DVD, games console and computer in their bedroom. Yet when asked to rank factors that have led to the “breakdown of traditional family life” — a concept with which an overwhelming majority agree has occurred — half blame games consoles and TV. Half blame violent or sexual imagery, presumably shown on those same screens. A third blame “consumerism”. It is easy to lament and to blame. Yet these are factors over which we mothers could exert much more control. The headmaster who recently went round confiscating gadgets from pupils’ bedrooms got overwhelming support from mothers, who marvelled at the resulting improvements in behaviour. Why do we lack the confidence to stand up for values that we can so clearly express?

My own children are still too small to demand iPods or Converse trainers. I do not yet know whether I will be able to withstand the peer pressure. But I can see that giving in can often make lives more, not less, complicated. Perhaps it is as the doctor told me. We need to adjust our expectations. Start questioning our assumptions about what we can and cannot control. And stop being so passive.

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