No job - and a full-time nanny for two children. By Alex Peek As I breezed into the coffee shop, the room instantly fell silent. The atmosphere plunged to depths of hostility, jealousy and outright disapproval. Yes, I was looking good, even if I do say so myself. Lightly tanned from the day before's afternoon sunning myself on the decking at home, my hair was freshly blow-dried and my nails professionally manicured, while at my side hung a clutch of high-end bags, the result of a morning's shopping. I was planning to catch up with a few friends before heading home for a nap and spruce-up in time for my husband's return from work. Only my 'friends' didn't look terribly pleased to see me. I'd go so far as to say some looked like they'd happily throttle me. Alex Peek (far left) with her nanny Nicola Walker, 29 (far right) and children Rory, 3 and Purdey, 2 My crime? I am a stay-at-home mother of two young children who also employs a full-time nanny. While my 'friends' arrived at the coffee shop glassy-eyed with exhaustion, and with fractious, mewling toddlers in tow, I arrived relaxed and unencumbered. My two children, Purdey, who's two and Rory, three, were at home with Nanny. Despite the fact I don't have a job, I've been lucky enough to have hired help, from 8am to 6pm, five days a week, ever since my second child was just a few hours old. Because we can afford it and it buys us a quality of life I know few families are fortunate enough to enjoy. I could never have imagined the deep-seated resentment this would engender against me. I have been called a 'lazy cow,' a 'bad mother' and cold-shouldered in parenting circles, where I am seen as a cheat and an outsider. Yet which one of these women who criticise me so harshly would refuse this sort of help if they, too, were lucky enough to be able to afford it? Very few, I suspect. But the divide between righteousness and old-fashioned jealousy can be very thin, particularly among sleep-deprived new mothers who'd kill for the chance to drink a cup of coffee without interruption. Nanny Nicola pictured with Alex's children Rory and Purdey. She puts away jigsaws, and devises games My husband Andrew, who's 39, runs his own successful property development business. We are comfortable, not super-wealthy, but see the £18,000 we spend each year on a full-time nanny as an investment in our marriage. Every night, he can be confident of arriving home to a delicious meal, a tidy house, two sweet-smelling, bathed, happy children, and a relaxed wife - not a sobbing, unkempt, food-stained wreck hovering at the centre of a bombsite, like so many other mothers I know. The nanny and I share the cleaning, so the house is always spick and span. Our weekends are not spent squabbling over supermarket trips or the ironing pile, but enjoying our family. I have absolutely no doubt that our marriage is stronger because of it. The never-ending comments from friends, acquaintances and even strangers: 'Do the children think Nanny is their Mummy? Does she wash your pants? Does your husband fancy her? On Monday morning, our nanny, Nicola, takes over. She changes nappies, sorts laundry, puts away jigsaws, and devises genius games with home-made Play-Doh. She oversees meal times and bath time. She takes the children food shopping and cleans up grotty car seats. She basically does anything I don't fancy doing. That's not to say I totally outsource my entire parental duties. Nicola and I often take part in activities or tasks together, or we'll share the load, with one attending toddler massage for instance while the other attends a music class. During the children's nap times, she'll whip round the kitchen and do a spot of ironing, leaving me free to run errands for Andrew, enjoy a game of tennis or (whisper it) take a nap myself, particularly if I've had a disturbed night. Alex and husband Andrew talked childcare through and concluded the pros far outweighed the cons But then, after 6pm, full responsibility for my children reverts to me. I am the one who makes those frantic calls to NHS Direct and stays up on all-night teething vigils. By morning, I am more than ready to hand over the reins to Nanny and get on with the business of enjoying my life. What woman, hand on heart, would say they wouldn't choose this path if it was open to them? And, in fairness to myself, my life has not exactly been a bed of roses. It was 2010 when, after six years of failed fertility treatment, I was delighted to finally fall pregnant naturally. I gave up my job as an events manager with no definite plans to return to work. When, three months after Rory was born, I discovered I was pregnant again I was overjoyed, despite the fact I would have two babies in such quick succession. But my moment of happiness was short-lived when my beloved mother, Jan, started to complain of aches and pains. She lived 20 minutes away from our home in Northamptonshire and had been a huge help with Rory. At first, we blamed her pain on carrying Rory around in a baby sling, but when it steadily got worse we realised that something was seriously wrong. It turned out the breast cancer she thought she'd beaten had returned. I was five months pregnant when, on May 1, 2011, Mum died aged just 59. My father had left us when I was a baby and, with no brothers or sisters to share my grief, I was utterly bereft. How was I going to cope with a toddler and newborn without Mum? Andrew was understandably worried too. Running his own business meant he worked long hours, and, like me, had come to rely on my mother as an extra pair of hands, as well as an emotional support for the family. As I struggled to cope with my grief, he sat me down one evening with a plan; he'd spoken to his accountant and said we could afford a nanny to see me through these next few difficult months. Besides, he joked, he couldn't risk me having postnatal depression - he was far too busy. I knew I'd need help so the day after Mum's funeral I interviewed Mrs B, a fully-qualified 30-year-old nanny with ten years' experience and a no-nonsense manner. I knew she was right for the job and she started work a few hours after I returned home from hospital with Purdey on August 31. Quicker than you can say Mary Poppins, Mrs B had soon bathed Purdey and swaddled her in unbleached organic cotton. Rory was installed in his high-chair with a delicious bowl of homemade fish pie as Mrs B began starching the collar of one of Andrew's work shirts. I went back to bed. Just as I'd thought life had taken a turn for the better, the backlash began. Some of the very friends who'd agreed I'd need a nanny to cope with two babies and my grief quickly changed their tune. Nicola oversees meals and bath time, cleans up grotty car seats and does anything Alex doesn't fancy doing One 'well-wisher' who popped round took one look at my gleaming house and Nanny in attendance, and actually called me 'a lazy cow'. She wasn't joking. Then came the seemingly never-ending comments from friends, acquaintances and even strangers. Do the children think that Nanny is their Mummy? A friend-of-a-friend, whose children had been put on the 'at risk' register following a drunken and violent bust-up with her boyfriend actually called me a 'bad mother'. Curtains twitched when Nanny and I took the babies for an afternoon stroll around the village and invites from the mother and toddlers group dried up. What should have been a really happy time was completely ruined by sniping, to the point where I actually considered giving up my nanny. 'There have been a couple of sticky moments when Purdey has clung on to Nicola when it's been time for her to leave, but I'm fine with it. I'm without doubt their favourite person' Andrew and I talked it through, however, and concluded the pros far outweighed the cons. Having childcare meant I was never short-tempered, exhausted or resentful. Everyone, Andrew included, got the best of me. It also afforded me precious time to mourn the loss of my mother. But slowly and subtly, Nanny became a dirty little secret, never to be mentioned in company. Andrew hated being seen as a show-off and I couldn't bear people assuming I wasn't coping. There were times when I was caught out, however. I will never forget the day Andrew's site foreman arrived at my house to pick up some paperwork only to find me with my hairdresser and manicurist in attendance, while the nanny dashed around after the children. It wouldn't have been so bad except that I knew his wife was at home looking after four children, with another on the way, and was managing admirably. I'm sure he thought I was spoilt, but I have decided to try and ignore the opinions of others. After all, having a nanny keeps Andrew happy too. I can count on one hand how many bottles he has made up or how many nappies he has changed. When he's not at work, he can spend his time on the golf course. And, thanks to Nanny, my life as a new mum has been blissful. With a strict routine, carefully scheduled feeding and sleeping times, Rory and Purdey are bright, well-mannered children. For this I thank Mrs B, who left at Christmas for another position, and their new nanny, Nicola, 29, who is a whizz with a pot of glue and a toilet roll. There have been a couple of sticky moments when Purdey has clung on to Nicola when it's been time for her to leave, but I'm fine with it. I'm without doubt their favourite person: it's always Mummy they want when tired, upset or in need of a cuddle. Meanwhile, I have stayed friends only with those who don't sneer and snipe at me over my nanny. I have emerged stronger and wiser about the so-called sisterhood, who, it seems, only want to be your friend if you're as miserable and as exhausted as them.