Why these new mum photos are anything but empowering: Stars who flaunt their postpartum bodies don't reflect the brutal reality, says a writer who's just given birth...

New mum Suki Waterhouse has been busy. Not just feeding, burping and nappy changing but photographing herself in a pair of humongous grey pants that would do Bridget Jones proud.

Posting a picture of herself in said knickers and sloppy cardigan on Instagram, the 32-year-old singer and actress declared that 'the fourth ­trimester has been humbling'. (So humbling that it must be gazed upon by four million social media followers).

'I'm proud of everything my body has achieved,' says Suki, best known for the hit Amazon Prime TV series Daisy Jones & The Six — and for ­dating heartthrob actor Robert Pattinson, the father of her newborn.

Postpartum posts are quite the thing these days, now that 'being real' is the new 'being glam'

'A refreshingly real' post, applauds Vogue ­magazine; 'Thank you!' gush her followers.

Postpartum posts are quite the thing these days. Once, celebrities shared ­pictures of themselves Aperol-spritzing on some freebie hotel break, for which they were #grateful and #blessed.

But now that 'being real' is the new 'being glam', more rawness is required. Hence anyone in the Instagram universe who has recently had a baby is keen to start sharing pics within minutes of the cord being cut.

Before Waterhouse we had actress Lindsey Lohan, 37, flashing her big grey postpartum pants a month after the birth of her first child in July last year, stating: 'I'm so proud of what this body was able to accomplish during these months of pregnancy.' And singer Jessie J, 36, in matching Calvin Klein briefs, writing: 'just a little six week postpartum self-love'.

Pop star Katy Perry struck an eye-catching pose in breast-pumping equipment only a week after welcoming Daisy Dove, her daughter with fiance Orlando Bloom; while fellow singer Cassie Ventura donned breast sheet patches (which offered her 'a little self-care in between feedings and pumpings') five weeks after giving birth to her second daughter Sunny.

Before Waterhouse we had actress Lindsey Lohan, 37, flashing her big grey postpartum pants and singer Jessie J , 36, in matching Calvin Klein briefs

Both women looked annoyingly beautiful in spite of the accessories. At least Australian ballroom star Sharna Burgess showed a hint of caesarean scar, but being a dancer, very little else betrayed the fact it had been less than one month since she'd given birth.

Kate Ferdinand, in sports bra and big pants ten days after the birth of daughter Shae — her ­second child with former footballer husband Rio — wrote: 'This is what a real body looks like after birth.' The message: 'Love yourselves, mamas! We're keepin' it real — and so should you!'

I know they mean well. I know they're aiming for solidarity — a we're-all-in-the-same-boat digital hug to every new mum who is pinching inches of fat on her ­stomach and sobbing.

Kate Ferdinand , in sports bra and big pants ten days after the birth of daughter Shae, and singer Cassie Ventura with breast sheet patches

But the trouble for ­hormonal postpartum 'mamas' like me is that these 'raw' pictures are often a far cry from our own reality.

Waterhouse's tummy looks like mine used to after a decent bowl of spaghetti carbonara.

Come on, Suki! If we're in the business of 'keepin' it real', then where are the leaking (and quite possibly lop-sided) breasts? Where are the cracked and bleeding nipples?

Why aren't you wearing a babysick-splattered top? Where are the livid red stretch marks, the massive muffin tops appearing over your Primark joggers, the ­pillow-sized sanitary pads?

Why don't you look like you've washed your hair with lard? Why isn't your tummy ­wrinkled like the skin on day-old gravy?

Four months ago, I had my fourth baby at the age of 42. Today, the image in my full-length mirror bears very little resemblance to the glowing lovelies on Instagram looking pretty perfect — or, indeed, to my former self.

During a recent hotel stay I clambered out of the bath in front of a mirrored door and almost screamed; for a millisecond, I had thought a large, wobbly intruder had made her way into the bathroom.

With every baby I have had, my old physique has taken a hammering. After number one, things got a little softer. After breastfeeding number two, it looked like someone had gone over my chest with a rolling pin.

Post number three, it looked like my entire body had been flattened and widened with a steamroller. This time I'm booking appearances at sci-fi conventions as Jabba the Hutt — no costume required. Getting dressed up for lunch out recently, I put on my biggest, brightest, dangliest pair of ­earrings in what I suddenly realised was an attempt to ­distract from everything that had changed from the neck down.

A Victoria Wood line about the futility of such distractions came to mind: 'It's like putting a bobble hat on St Paul's.'

The most interesting change this time around has been to my rib cage, which seems to have swelled a good few inches, as though my lungs have been stolen and replaced with Brian Blessed's.

This 'rib flare' happens to accommodate a growing baby and could be permanent, apparently.

Other mothers of my acquaintance tell of their own physical transformations: hair that is ­permanently brittle; nipples 'like corks'; breasts so long that for neatness' sake they 'could be tied up in a bow'. With a certain ­gallows humour we recognise that — though it's important to try to be fit and healthy — those pre-partum ­bodies ain't coming back.

In his poem Afternoons, Philip Larkin observes mothers looking after their young children in the playground. 'Their beauty has thickened,' he writes mournfully, as though the changing shape that often goes hand-in-hand with motherhood is a tragedy.

What (misogynistic) rot! The disappearance of our 'old' bodies is no tragedy — it's just life. It's the way that female bodies have changed and adapted since the dawn of mankind.

The healthy thing to do is not to try to 'celebrate' your new body in the company of thousands of Instagram followers, to 'embrace' your stretch marks or fall in love with your flab, but simply to Get Over It — remembering that our bodies are not the repositories of our identities or works of art to be admired, but, in fact, are often quite extraordinary functional machines to be used.

Of course, over the past six years I've had moments of mourning my 'old' body. Pre-pregnancy I had a waspish little waist that could almost be spanned with two hands. One of my favourite looks was a man's shirt cinched with a thin belt; these days such an outfit would leave me looking like a badly done-up parcel.

But any moments of wistfulness I swiftly quash with defiance. So you've got a few stretch marks? Your feet are a size bigger (it ­happens)? You've produced four human beings — get over it!

What really irks me about all these big-knickered postpartum posers is that while on the surface they profess to be all about female empowerment, they — like the Kim Kardashians of this world — are, in reality, perpetuating the boring obsession with ­women's bodies.

Suki et al might like to think that they are rising above the influencers who post pics of their flat tummies just days after birth, but in fact they are falling into the same trap: focusing on the body when their focus should, if anything, be on the baby.

It's symptomatic of the narcissistic obsession with bodies that runs particularly rampant on social media, now under the acceptable brand of 'body positivity'.

'Me posting a softly lit picture of myself in my undies isn't vanity — oh no, no: it's body positivity, see? I'm celebrating what the female body can do!'

What young women and young mothers should be aiming for is not body positivity but body ­neutrality, a healthy realism that yes, your body has taken a hit, but down the line — with a bit of ­exercise and dietary restraint — you'll be fit and strong again one day. Not your old self, but a ­different one.

For now, though, new mothers would be advised to put down the phone, stop taking selfies in the mirror and enjoy the company of their baby — not the tedious navel-gazers of Instagram.