I?ve been diagnosed with ?mango cheek syndrome?.

 this is a particularly virile strain of the ’70s epidemic known as ‘burnt chop disorder’, which many women aged 20 to 45 will be all too aware of. Symptoms include scurvy, hypertension and irritability but, fortunately, sufferers usually recover completely when their children reach maturity.For anyone lucky enough not to be affected, a quick explanation: Mangoes have two cheeks, and I have two children. Ergo, last summer, I made do with gnawing the stringy pip, while they sunk their teeth into luscious golden orbs of tropical gorgeousness.There’s no metaphor more apt for motherhood than the relinquishing of the mango. But 10 years into this lark, I’m starting to feel a bit miffed. As most mothers will attest, your children come first. Now, I’m not suggesting this shouldn’t be the case. But when you’ve given up alcohol and coffee, kissed your waistline goodbye, surrendered sleep and lost any small indulgences such as, say, going to the toilet on your own, you do start to wonder when you might be able to reclaim a bit of yourself. Just something small – perhaps actually sitting down to eat your breakfast, or having a proper lunch, instead of pre-sucked rice crackers and your toddler’s half-eaten banana.of course, the brilliant and hilarious child psychologist Nigel Latta says we should have been doing this all along. he advocates ignoring children so they learn from the start that the world doesn’t revolve around them. “Parents,” he says, “are mollycoddling, bubble-wrapping and overstimulating their kids because they’re terrified of letting them stew in averageness by letting them get bored.”instead, it’s us parents who are getting bored (and boring), dealing with the lost shoes, the phantom illnesses, the unflushed loos, the lunch boxes, the debates over broccoli and the head lice. Then there’s my personal favourite: the class ‘show and Tell’ – that wonderful concept allegedly designed to boost children’s confidence, but in reality just another thing for guilt-laden mums to forget.What would happen if we put ourselves first? if we took the juiciest chop or, heaven forbid, the whole damn mango. What if we turned down the 14th consecutive invitation to a birthday party at Lollipop Land and popped into IKEA, instead (OK, no one ever ‘pops’ into IKEA, but you get the drift). As Latta says, our parents had it easier because they only had to look after their own social lives, unlike our generation, which believes our children need to have one as well. I was thinking about this as I sat on the beach a few weeks ago, watching my daughter surf. Why should she be having all the fun? I beckoned her in, grabbed her board and told her to look after her little sister while I caught a few waves. Initially, she wasn’t thrilled at all, but when I came back, she’d transformed her sister into a sand mermaid. Happiness all round.So, this summer I’m dispensing with the stupidly named ‘play dates’ unless the child brings his or her mum and the mum brings a bottle of wine. I won’t be reading Victoria the Violin Fairy these holidays, but I‘ll enthusiastically discuss Jonathan Franzen’s new novel. the Talking Baby Hippo app will be removed from my iPhone and I’ll be playing Words with Friends (which I thoroughly recommend if you like Scrabble). if I’m needed, I’ll be in my hammock. the one I was given for Christmas in 2007 but, surprisingly, have never sat in.

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