The other day, I asked Amani, my seven-year-old daughter, what she wanted to be when she grows up. Without a second thought, she blurted, “I want to be a CLIENT.” To Amani, being “a client” is the promised land. It’s the place where the best version of her mum is always on display and where demands are met with quiet acquiescence rather than agitated aggression.

If I think about it, raising my daughter and running an ad agency are similar in a lot of ways, and each role has sharpened my skills and honed my instincts for the other role.

As I write this, I have 42 unread WhatsApp messages, half from work and the other half from school mums and class groups, two work deadlines, one solar system project (due tomorrow) and a juice-stained permission slip waiting to be signed in my handbag. Just this morning, I briefed my team on a new creative campaign while simultaneously organising a post-school playdate (with a bonus craft activity) at my house. I have added ‘Circus-level juggler’ to my CV and live with the fact that my brain will always have multiple tabs open at the same time. Motherhood has made multitasking a required survival skill.

“I need to be dressed as my favourite fictional character for school tomorrow” said Amani to me at 11 p.m. the night before her school’s book parade. Motherhood has trained me to expect the unexpected and adapt to impossible deadlines with the same cocky confidence my husband displays when assembling a dollhouse without needing instructions. It’s the art of someone who knows it’s either a do-or-die situation. So when I get hit with “Oh, I forgot to tell you, the board meeting is tomorrow and we need a full strategic plan for our brand for the year by nine a.m.” or “Any chance we can get the positioning in two days?” from a client, I do what any card-carrying member of the sisterhood of mothers would do – just tighten my ponytail, grab a carb-filled snack and handle it.

Mums and agency folks don’t just listen to feedback – we learn to decode it. We decipher the indecipherable much like the over-caffeinated Gen Z hackers shown punching away at their keyboards in Hollywood movies. We learn to read body language, watch for eye dilation and lip twitches, re-examine hand gestures and look out for what has not been said. Whether it’s “I want this tagline to be punchier” or “I want to wear the blue thing I wore to that place where the music was too loud and the floor was dirty” we are masters at deciphering fuzzy comments and emerging with magical clarity. My husband, who just blinks at her like he’s buffering while trying to process such demands, is often rendered speechless with admiration at my knack for interpreting the uninterpretable demands of a seven-year-old child.

Sometimes the thermometer says normal but my gut tells me to keep Amani from going to school the next day. I also know when “I’m not hungry” will become “I’m staaarrrrving” within minutes. When “I’m fine” is about to be followed by an outburst of uncontrollable tears. We mums have a secret superpower – our hyper-tuned, constantly nagging gut instincts. At work, I call upon this instinct every time I approach a brand strategy. It doesn’t matter what the data suggests or what the consumer research says – if it doesn’t feel right in my gut, it is most often not the right way to go.

If anyone has navigated a child’s meltdown in a public space, congratulations – you now have a degree in crisis management. You learn to stay calm under pressure, to make split-second decisions and to always have a contingency plan. Motherhood doesn’t just teach you to manage a crisis, it shows you rapid response techniques, spin control and UN-level diplomacy.

For all these reasons and more, I think motherhood should be renamed “Executive Leadership.” From tantrums to timelines, meltdowns to meetings we mums can handle the chaos of every day with a side of sass and a smile that says “I’m a mum and I’ve got this.”

Nida Haider is Managing Partner, IAL Saatchi & Saatchi. nida.h@ialsaatchi.com