"So, are we ready to go out now?" My husband spoke these words with slight agitation.

We had been trying to leave the house for 45 minutes, but every time we headed for the front door baby Max decided to fill his nappy or regurgitate his milk.

"I think so" I said, hesitantly. "Oh no, I recognise that face. Looks like he needs feeding again. Why don't we have lunch at home now and try to go out this afternoon, eh?"

My husband gave a sigh of resignation as, once again, our plans for the day were scuppered.

Max is now five weeks old and rules our lives with all the selfishness to be expected of a young baby.

Just when I thought we were getting into three-hourly feeds, he started hollering for more milk every hour on the hour (I hope this indicates a growth spurt rather than a predisposition to become a lush).

And just when I had got used to him sleeping for two-hour stretches in the morning and afternoon, he decided to change the pattern to 20-minute cat naps throughout the day at unpredictable moments.

Depending on which school of thought you choose to follow, I'm doing this child care thing either all wrong, or all right.

The modern advice is to "go with your baby". In other words, fit your day around your child's needs.

This is what I do, even though it doesn't give me time to floss my teeth or apply my anti-wrinkle cream, let alone iron any of my clothes.

Max, on the other hand, is thriving. He's huge and happy and usually looks very presentable.

The old advice was to make your child fit around your schedule. You decided when to feed them, wind them, change them and put them down to sleep.

This is how I was dealt with as a baby, apparently. My mother claims it did me no harm, and I can see the benefits. It's surely the only way you can preserve your sanity and restore your looks.

The trouble is, I'm hopeless at sticking to any sort of routine, with or without a baby. If I only had myself to look after, this wouldn't be a problem. I don't mind eating lunch at 11am and supper at midnight, provided I can fit in a bit of sleeping, socialising and housework during the rest of my 24 hours.

It's not so easy when I'm trying to deal with the variable demands of another person. Especially one that screams so loudly.

My mother has gently tried to persuade me to leave Max to cry himself to sleep instead of me walking around with him for hours until he nods off.

She said this might be the start to establishing some sort of order. So the other day, having checked that he was fed, clean and winded, I put him in his pram while I made some toast.

It was a disaster. He yelled so much I lost concentration and set off the smoke alarm. I then didn't realise that the phone was ringing until the caller had rung off without leaving a message.

And I didn't hear the window cleaner knocking on the door for his payment.

I couldn't bring myself to leave Max to wail any longer and rescued him from his misery. He showed his gratitude by being sick all over me.

It's just as well he has an appealing smile.