I was in an exclusively organic supermarket brushing the soft organic cotton of a sage green baby jacket when I suddenly realised the fine line standing between me and the parody of the yummy mummy. Had I had only one baby, I am pretty confident the line would now be far behind me: it was multiplying the price of the jacket by two – the best part of a week’s package holiday to somewhere exotic – that made me pause for thought. And, I admit that for all this ‘moment of clarity’, I still left the horribly overpriced shop with the other items in my basket: two new wooden toys painted with non-chemical paint; three jars of baby food – pear and blackberry puree, pumpkin with brown rice, and spinach risotto – and some spelt baby crackers, organic of course.

When and how had this descent into mummy madness come about, I wondered, on leaving the shop. I and my big bump had dutifully scoured second hand clothes shops for sweet little babygros. In the first few months of their lives, I refused to dress them in anything but the plainest and easiest clothes. No matching knicker and dress sets or button down shirts in our cupboard please; I shunned presents of clothes which I thought might be too fiddly to pull on. Had bobbing around the room singing songs from the jungle book at all those baby yoga classes caused the great big dark blot on the white page of my practical, sensible parenting? But to have relished those hours, even to have signed up for them in the first place, the tendency must have already set in.

No, I think at the root of all this was envy. How could I not be tempted into this frivolity, spending all those mornings sitting on the floor of friends’ living rooms nibbling organic dates and sipping calming herbal tea, babies crawling around us knocking over tasteful wooden toys blocking their paths. All these mummies were having such a lot of fun browsing catalogues full of luxurious baby clothes and gossiping over which organic millet and corn baby snack their tots liked best. I wanted to revel in this baby world too.

It is simple indulgence for the mummies and the babies – a bit like buying shoes you know you will only wear twice but you love so completely and utterly, or keeping far too expensive yoghurt covered cashew nuts in your desk drawer to cheer you up in the office late in the afternoon. As long as you stop before bankruptcy or gluttony, what pleasure there is in it.