At The Spectator’s Parliamentarian of the Year awards, ‘Speech of the year’ went to Theo Clarke MP for her account to the House of Commons of the birth trauma which almost killed her. Credit to her, of course, for confronting her pain. But childbirth and early motherhood has always been traumatic and difficult.

What has changed is that it is now deeply unfashionable to say anything too enthusiastic about motherhood. Discussions have shifted from the apple-pie good to the nappy-bin bad or even the fourth-degree-tear ugly.

In national newspapers, women write about losing their identity after having children. The staggering cost of childcare is well-documented, as are fears about babies being bad for the planet. Stories of understaffed, underfunded maternity wards are easy to come by. Everyone knows about the sleepless nights and the delirious tiredness. The lack of housing. The loneliness of parenthood.

I must admit I prefer the cranky honesty about motherhood to the glossy online alternatives

Lighter relief can be found in TV programmes such as Motherland, in which hapless fathers and competitive mothers wind each other up at the school gate to great comic effect. In many ways, though, the message is much the same: having children is awful.

Is it any wonder that birth rates are falling? I’ve also read plenty of articles concerned by this fact. These pieces are usually accompanied by pictures of an empty cot or a despondent-looking stork. The underlying message can seem like an accusation. What’s wrong, gals? Why aren’t you all procreating like your mothers and grand-mothers? TikTok…

Half of all women in England and Wales born in 1990 (the year I was born) had not had a baby by their 30th birthday. We are the first generation for that to be the case. But if you look at the ominous portrait being painted of modern motherhood, it might explain why many women are having second thoughts, or at least considering their options.

‘Childless’ has been rebranded ‘childfree’. The case against procreating is often made convincingly by women with bouncy hair, glamorous outfits and so much time to themselves. The charge sometimes levied at these women is that they are selfish, for being unwilling to sacrifice their freedom for children. But it could just as easily be argued that they are shrewd, too. Mother Nature isn’t really a feminist. Having children does mean sacrificing a lot of your old life.

Just ask the frazzled mothers on the forums. Nobody wants to be accused of being a bit ‘Mumsnet’, a term loaded with derision. Or ridiculed for using the dreaded phrase ‘As a mother…’. But it has become very clear to me, as a mother, why Mums-net exists: it is a space where women can vent. It is not the only support group. ‘The Motherload’ is a ‘non-judgmental, witty and smug-free parenting’ website where mothers can share the ‘mental load’. Women divulge stories of life after birth, and ask each other how best to cope, how to hang in there when you are at your wits’ end. ‘Desperate first-time mummy…’ begins one recent post. ‘I really need help’ reads another. There is lots of advice offered, mostly kind and well-meaning. Pregnant Then Screwed is a charity campaigning to end what it calls ‘the motherhood penalty’, which really does make having children sound like a prison sentence.

I must admit I prefer all the cranky honesty to the glossy online alternatives which paint a picture of motherhood that I’m not sure is more appealing. Take the rise of the Trad Wife, for instance, birthed from the depths of the internet, who, trussed up in pearls and a frilly apron, and relying on soft-porn aesthetics, lectures other women from her spotless kitchen counter about how to be a good wife and a good mother. It’s time to forget the #GirlBoss dream, honey, she purrs. Focus on the babies, the bread and keeping your bloke happy.

Or look at the influencer mummies who post stylised tableaux of their lives. Their darlings frolic in fields or snuggle up in blankets. Everything looks blissful but highly staged. And while these scenes are more enticing to look at, and in some ways, give a more positive impression of motherhood, there is something unnerving about the way children are conscripted into influencer commerce. Mothers are encouraged to use their brood to help flog products to each other, milking motherhood for all it is worth.

The ‘Motherload’ types are more honest than the glowing Instamummies. I have two young children and it can at times be challenging. It is consoling to read that others find it hard, too. Give me that over yet another algorithmic advert for a jumper or hairband hand-embroidered with my daughter’s name. When Lily arrived, the week before the lockdown in March 2020, my husband would quote Mike Tyson: ‘Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.’ Put that on a poster for the nursery.

Motherhood can be oppressive but the contemporary rage against it feels perplexing. So I would like, unfashionably and perhaps even a little sanctimoniously, to write briefly in favour of motherhood. Because Christmas brings with it a reminder of the utter comfort and joy that children bring to life. It is a time to mother and be mothered, as ghosts of motherhood past, present and future pay their visits.

I don’t want to sermonise too much. But the story of the nativity does put modern concerns into perspective somewhat. Christmas is a celebration of a child but also of His mother, who gave birth in difficult circumstances. Motherhood is about making a life, not making life easier. The truth is that it’s probably more straight-forward to raise a baby now than it ever has been.

That doesn’t mean everyone should have to do it. Thankfully, motherhood is usually now a journey that women can choose to go on or not. I’m pleased I have. Becoming a mother is the hardest thing I’ve done. It is also the sweetest.