Kegels? More like bagels, am I right ladies? Oh how we laughed.

If you’ve yet to fully appreciate just how divergent men and women truly are, then ‘I Don’t Know How She Does It’ makes a pretty retrograde case. Example: women keep lists and men don’t, since men are too busy sleeping to care about such things. Likewise, it’s abundantly clear that men are ill-equipped to handle ‘women’s issues’, which is why mammograms are such a fun excuse to use around the office. Ever notice how a man leaving to care for his sick child is deemed heroic, while a women who does the same lacks commitment? How is it that being ‘one of the boys’ is frowned upon, yet displays of femininity are likened to unhinged emotionalism? If only women could have it all. If only men could understand.

Sarah Jessica Parker is the wife and mother who dares. The wife who considers herself an equal. The mother who returns to work and still manages to beg, borrow or steal a cake for the children’s bake sale. Such wonder women are commonly argued to be the unsung heroes of our time, a cause to which I’d be more sympathetic if only Kate weren’t so vocal in insisting upon it. She even ropes in Allison (Christina Hendricks) to confirm as much in occasional pieces to camera. Curiously, many of the film’s gender banalities are of her doing, so much so that she seemingly had very little time to feature in the storyline itself. Perhaps she’s a metaphor for the woman who can’t have it all.

Husband and wife at work, children in tow. For a while that seems okay, and no one is happier than Richard (Greg Kinnear) when his wife lands a shot at a big city contract. Nothing will go wrong, Kate assures. She’s got this. Do we believe her anymore than she believes herself? We know something will happen, just as we know she’s destined to feel guilty about it. Guilty she couldn’t be there, guilty for being a woman. Guilty looks will abound, tumbling from every baby, child, infant and spouse the film can find.

Despite the accepted wisdom that men can’t possibly be expected to work with female colleagues without becoming to all that simmering sexual tension, high flying Jack (Pierce Brosnan) is surprisingly understanding of his co-star’s besieged womanhood. Indeed, for all its fascination with outdated gender stereotypes, Jack and Richard make a rare case for the sympathetic male lead. Even Kate’s eventual will-she-will-she-how-could-she plot is handled with insight bordering on maturity. How sad that such mistakes are not repeated elsewhere, either in the pantomime misogyny of her chief rival (Seth Meyers), or Momo: her disturbingly robotron assistant. Oliva Munn is seen to embody a monotone succubus, whose fertility represents something of a Chimera nightmare until she eventually finds a cause that melts that stony heart into infantile mush.

In this one-woman salute to mothers everywhere, Parker, Kinnear and Brosnan do fine work. None of them try very hard, but that’s the joy of talented actors: when they’re slumming it like this, they don’t really have to. The conclusion is as you’d expect: Kate learns to sacrifice, and Momo knows now why we cry. “It’s snowing!” Kate squeaks, and with a hop she’s gone. There’s a snowman to be built; in high heels, no less. No man is going to stop her this time. She’s worth it, see?