Introduction to my secret

So I have a secret - a secret which to most of you will seem fairly conventional but for those of who are familiar with the militant brigade of over-educated opinionated stay at home mothers, you may sympathise - and that is I am a mum of 2 toddler twin boys and yet I work, work full time and love to work.

I adore my boys but quite frankly have been brought up to work, love the independence and freedom gives me, and will always work.

This sentiment seems apparently alien to the women I am surrounded by in the wealthy suburb I live in and as a result I am somewhat of an alien to them and viewed with the upmost suspect and anxiety. For they have decided to put aside the next 5-10 years, regardless of their previous professional experience or education, to be with their children in every possible way. I see them plodding down the streets with their buggies, or in their SUVs peering stupidly over the bonnet (giving no thought to the environmental damage they are creating), or in starbucks after the school run and to me they all have a similar empty look in their eyes - for who are they? They are ultimately the sum of their kids and partner. And how long are they the sum of their partner? Not that long if I were him.

Their new role seems to necissate additional pounds (and not in a sexy muffin top kind of way), Boden style mumsy clothing which ain't going to make Angelina Jolie look attractive, let alone a middle aged woman who has given birth to 3 kids, and a general dour demeanor that seems devoid of energy or life - and don't even mention the word sex appeal. These gals don't do such a frivolous thing as sex appeal. Poor Henry has to continue to be aroused by them in their greying undies and hairy legs - and they wonder why they are lagging behind the national twice a week average. Honey - just do the math - duh!

As a result I live a rather bizarre existence. After getting the red-eye back from the East Coast I find myself in the playground at 10am in the morning with my boys pretending I have been home baking cookies for the past few weeks. Woe betide if I was to admit that I had a fascinating meeting in our New York office followed by a night out on the tiles at Manhatten's finest.

When I am asked what I do - I never use the word Manging Director. I say I just do a low key job for a low key local company.

When I am asked how I keep so slim, I never admit to my fellow sisters, that yes I go to the gym and care about the size of my ass - despite being a mother.

And when I am hung over from too much fun I never admit it.

So it's a little wierd, my secret existence, but no-one ever told me that mothers could be the most frightening, self justifying, judgemental, political breed of human on the planet. And if they had, I am not sure I would have entered the fray so easily - for it's a jungle out there.

The question is, how long do I keep my existence a secret?