That time I felt NO guilt for openly judging another mum

I've long since subscribed to the school of thought that we're all in this together.

Us mums, I mean.

Those days when everything is running like clockwork and you can see yourself on the cover of Good Housekeeping can quickly give way to a day when your mug shot will fill the cover of the National Enquirer and you'll be forced to explain why you, your children and the family dog went on the run.

But those unexpected highs and sudden lows are all part and parcel of motherhood, and something which each and every mum experiences.

So, on those days when I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards and I spy a mum with a designer buggy, stylish coat and three impeccably-behaved children, I'll remind myself that our paths will cross again at some point in the future, and she'll breathe in the scent of my newly-purchsed fragrance while cleaning dog mess of her toddler's shoe.

We need to imagine everyone else is barely hanging on by a thread in order to feel better about those moments when our sanity and the hand of a screaming toddler is slowly making its way out of our grasp.

It's not cruel, it's simply a means of survival and the reason I rarely judge fellow mothers.

'Rarely' being the oeprative word here.

I admit it, there was an occasion last week when I openly judged another mother and felt next to no guilt about it.

While creased over in the waiting room of a doctor's surgery, I held back tears as I struggled to cope with the pain of a recurring kidney infection.

Sweat was gathering on my brow as I panicked over being unable to produce the inevitable urine sample despite feeling like my empty bladder might burst at any moment.

Contorting in discomfort, I found myself flinching as two children were given free rein over the waiting room.

Aged approximately five and seven, the little boys tossed hard plastic toys around the room, shrieked with wild abandon and ignored their mother's casual requests to calm down.

Noting my distinct discomfort, she spent the next twenty minutes avoiding my gaze as she listlessly reminded her children of the importance of being quiet.

At first, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and concluded that she too was unwell and unable to properly tend to the kids until an exchange with the receptionist informed me they were simply there for standard vaccinations.

As her kids took over the room, she chose to opt out.

Never once raising her voice, changing her approach, or escorting them from the room with a stern word, the mother of these two children made their behaviour everyone's problem.

And as I was the only other person in the waiting room, she made them my problem.

Buoyed by the fact their mum had no real interest in disciplining them, the kids did what kids do best and went hell for leather.

She was bored of them, and I was forced to pay the price for her disinterest.

I was forced to duck as an airplane was launched at the wall behind me.

I was forced to raise my scarf up around my ears as I attempted to drown out their high-pitched screams.

And even when I was helped from the chair by my GP and forced to sidestep the lego her sons had scattered all over the floor, she didn't bat an eyelid.

Let me be clear, I don't blame the children here.

I lay the blame directly at her feet, and I feel no guilt about it.