Hurray for Christmas party season; the time of year when I imagine myself to be the picture of sophistication in sparkling earrings, perfectly coiffed hair, immaculate make up and a flattering festive dress. Except nowadays the challenge is simply to get out the house without blobs of cheese in my hair and snot on my trousers.

Rewind ten years (twenty is too long ago for my baby-addled brain to recall) and the picture was very different. Here’s what I remember about (rose-tinted) pre-children party preparations compared to the current challenges of exiting the building in the evenings without three children clinging to my ankles.

Getting ready for a night out aged 28

5.30 pm – choose uplifting mood music; try on 14 different outfits with a variety of shoes, scarves and jewellery.

6 pm – relax in decadent bubble bath with a wide array of posh smellies; use deep conditioner; face mask; pumice stone and complete a thorough shave of all the necessary areas. Rise from the bath wrinkled, hair-free and smelling like the perfume counter at Debenhams.

6.50 pm – brush teeth, pluck brows, slather body in expensive scented moisturiser, then crack open a chilled bottle of Sauv Blanc.

7 pm – apply make-up carefully using serum, primer, concealer, foundation, powder, blusher, intricate eye make-up and lipstick.

7.30 pm dry and style hair whilst dancing to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.

8 pm – after 17 texts and calls to finalise the sartorial decisions, finally leave the house in chosen party dress and glamorous fake-fur jacket, 4 inch heels, a cloud of Coco Chanel and a sequined evening bag bursting with make-up for mid-evening reapplications, folding flat shoes, cash, bank card, keys, phone.

Simple, huh?

Getting ready for a night out aged 38

5.30 pm – feed whining, snotty children beans on toast and Petits Filous, then get baby yogurt hands in your hair when on all fours wiping the kitchen floor with a paper towel.

6 pm – relaxing bath-time (for the 3 children): do laps of the landing as you chase the hyperactive toddler who is screaming ‘no bath, no, no NO, don’t want it BATH’; dunk three of them in the bath and pour a jug of water over their heads and stick a toothbrush in their mouths; stop the older two drowning the baby and poking him in the eye with the toothbrush handle; get weed on by the baby as he sits on your lap in a towel; retrieve pyjamas and nappies after the toddler throws them over the bannister and finally wrestle them into their night-clothes after a bribe of ten episodes of Peppa.

6.50 pm – stick on Peppa Pig and while they are momentarily distracted brush their hair, wipe their noses, apply Vicks to coughing chests and crack open a carton of blue-top milk.

7 pm – during the quiet TV time: stop the oldest two from kicking each other; ask your daughter not to pull down her pyjama bottoms and pretend to do a poo on her brother; pick up all the puzzles and toys that the baby has pulled from the cupboards and dodge the plastic balls that the toddler is chucking around the room.

7.15 pm – drag them up to bed with the lure of stories, dummies, extra milk and cuddly toys. Read the Gruffalo, the Gruffalo’s Child, What the Ladybird Heard and Room on the Broom.

7.30 pm – explain to the crying four year old that you’re only going out for your tea and the babysitter is LOVELY; placate crying toddler with third bottle of warm milk and change crying baby’s 4th pooey nappy of the day.

7.50 pm – dig out a pair of moderately clean jeans and a crumpled sparkly top (which you wear over a thermal vest).

7.55 pm – wash pits with old flannel; clump mascara onto eyelashes; dry shampoo hair; change pants; locate some old earrings; run toothbrush over front teeth and in your haste spray Coco Chanel in your eyes.

8 pm – offer babysitter a glass of Sauv Blanc and run from the house as if from a crime scene in a pair of comfy boots, with some tissues, an old lipgloss, keys and bankcard shoved in the pockets of your winter coat. Text babysitter from the taxi to check that everything is ok.

Ah, life in my late thirties. Wouldn’t change it for a moment (ha!).