I knew I’d become a ‘real mother’ when I finally relented and bought a pair of these. ‘Real mothers’ don’t wear smart shoes. Just like they don’t have skinny bellies and shiny freshly combed hair. C’mon did you really believe that celeb hype? Did you not realise that while Katie Holmes pushes her Bugaboo gracefully in her Miu Mius, some aide is probably schlepping some huge sack of detrius behind, just out of shot.

No ‘real mother’ would be able to push a buggy in a pair of heels (aside from the fact they make you too tall for the buggy so you’re bent over double when you’re going downhill – good look). Have you any idea how much even a Maclaren weighs once you plus on a 12-kilo-toddler and their inevitable daily kit including two teddies, five types of snacks to cover every fusspot eventuality, three hardback books for the same reason, a bottle of water, a bottle of juice, spare clothes (if you’re toilet training), nappies (if you’re not) an extra blanket and a Dora torch?

And can you afford to? Nice shoes would last about a day with a toddler in tow. You’ll need flatties to cope with the mud of the playground bushes. And not get upset about stains when the yoghurt goes flying during your toddler’s valiant effort at independent eating, albeit with a fork. And let’s be honest, you’ll need to be quick on your feet to keep up with your little ‘un who has an uncanny natural desire to walk right up to the edge of the pavement, right there, where that SUV is now backing up into the driveway. Oh and then there’s beloved public transport. Try heaving a full buggy up and down the stairs in even 2-inch-high-boots. It ain’t worth it.

But scratch the practicalities. Like with any other clique. Or sect. I knew I’d ‘arrived’ when I wore my birkenstocks proudly to my breastfeeding group where every other ‘real mother’ was also clad in the requisite loose jeans ‘n’ birkenstocks combo. OK so I couldn’t breastfeed one-handed while discussing the merits of child-led weaning a la Gill Rapley, but I was getting there.