FAMILY MATTERS by Jude Dobson | Auckland Lifestyle News | Health, Fashion, Food and Wine in Auckland

Fifteen years ago, I woke up as I had for every day of the preceding week wondering if today would be the day I'd give birth.

Given I was five days over the due date, the odds were shortening in my favour that I'd end the day in another bed. By 9am, though, I had good reason to suspect I might end the day seeing my toes again, as the odd labour pain had begun.

By 7pm, I was holding my daughter after a somewhat long day, with "mother" now being a title I could add to my job description.

It's somewhat horrifying that 15 years have slipped by so quickly. A very wise old lady once told me that particular feeling was called time compression and it is a phenomenon that accelerates with age. She is correct, of course.

When you are three or four, it seems an eternity until you turn five. At 13, I couldn't fathom being a grown up 17-year-old and that it would be an absolute age until I'd wear high heels and make-up. A 21st birthday was an occasion somewhere out there in the distant future. Thirty-somethings were foreign creatures I knew nothing about and then, after that, there were just people my parents' age and grandparents' age with not much thought from me about what happened in between.

I picked up the photo album to reminisce about August 5, 1995. There is the shot most new mums have - you know the one: the worn out, make-up-less, moon-faced, delighted mother in the delivery suite, holding a wee bundle close, with dad smiling proudly, looking rather relieved. We looked so young!

The next shot shows dad on the (clunky) mobile phone telling the world about the most beautiful baby ever.

Later, there are shots of the first weeks at home, with me still looking pretty shattered but happy. The centrepiece of every photo is the small person who turned us from a couple into a family.

Fifteen years down the track that baby now talks about wanting to drive a car. I think 15 is so young to be behind the wheel, but I have to remind myself that I got my licence the week after I turned 15.

I had spent considerable hours on the Massey Fergusson tractor in the paddock next door learning the rudiments of driving. Actually, it was a pretty tough thing, the old Ferg, so when I graduated to a car it didn't seem quite so hard.

In those days, once you got your licence you were off - no restrictions to hours of driving or having unlicensed passengers. The blood alcohol level was the same as for grown-ups, and a defensive driving course was something I thought only the armed forces did.

With all the checks and balances in place today, why do I feel nervous? After all, the changes are in my favour as a parent. For example, it's a two-year process to earn your wings and in that time there's a lot of help to get you to the next rung on the ladder that we simply didn't have when I first drove. Not driving at night, not driving with young unlicensed mates potentially distracting you or egging you on, add to the safety factor as you get your head round your new responsibilities.

The zero blood alcohol until a new young driver is 20 is fantastic. Then there's the defensive driving courses. I might book myself in, too, as I believe they should be compulsory. I wish I'd had the chance to do one all those years ago as I'm sure I've acquired bad habits over the years that need correcting.

So "L" plates for the car, eh. Fifteen years ago, if you'd mentioned that notion to me, I would not have believed the small bundle of divine fragility in my arms would grow to be a gorgeous young thing almost as tall as me wanting to drive a car. I couldn't even see past the fog of the first few weeks, let alone to a first birthday. Time compression. It's getting to me.