My daughter is learning to drive, and I am a cliché on wheels: proud, supportive and scared for my life. Torn between gentle instruction, and the urgent need to save eight parked cars in her path. Intentionally even-tempered. And accidentally hysterical. Poor kid. Of the two parents she has available to her, I am the rational one, so I’ve self-nominated as driving instructor until we all see
reason and outsource it.

Credit: Getty

I’ve never taught someone to drive but when it comes to my baby’s milestones, I’m very hands-on. For 16 years I’ve been her ride-or-die, slightly unhinged coach, cheerleader and advocate. I’m a bit like an episode of Dance Moms – without the leopard print. So out of my way, I’ve got this.

Her first lesson began well. I did not freak out about how the once three-year-old who had to be prised from my thigh to go to kinder is now turning a car’s ignition. I was very calm.

We were in the far corners of an enormous DFO carpark, and I was very relaxed as I calmly took her through the basics of safety, mirrors and indicating, when she started to laugh. She said, “Why are you talking so slowly?” I said,........

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