Risk Averse Not Aware.

It was ten past nine – PoshMum and her pal, Sunita-the-Mum-all-Dads-Fancied were indulging in a quick spot of morning gossip as they sauntered down the tree-lined road to their cars. Even though sexy Sunita left all the Dulwich dads tongue-tied in her wake (probably because she left them tongue-tied in her wake) PoshMum rather hero-worshiped her – tall, effortlessly slim, flawless café-au-lait skin, tumbling dark brown curls – Sunita was your average female nightmare. Plus she had a killer fashion sense and the funds to indulge it – today she was rocking a pair of funky Solea flamenco-style heels and a Chloe inspired, swingy, cropped jacket (by Aura Bella from Tomlinson’s in the Village) – very hip! PoshMum, who had yummy mummy style down pat always resolved to be a little more daring whenever she saw Sunita looking so ‘edgy’ and cool – yet every time she reached the cash till in the funkier boutiques she always lost her nerve. PoshMum longed to replicate Sunita’s devastating ‘come hither’ effect on men; well, she’d just have to swallow her pride and beg or bribe Sunita to accompany her on the next jaunt down the Kings Road.

Pausing by a large clump of laurel, PoshMum and Sunita got well and truly stuck into the hot topic of the morning. It was very much a case of ‘The Morning After The Night Before’; had Parents Evening been ‘Good’ or ‘Bad’? Had their form teacher dropped any pertinent hints regarding future entrance exam failure or success? This fundamental subject required their total concentration; the sauntering slowed and finally came to a complete stop, when like a bolt from the blue, a chubby cheeked toddler clattered noisily past them astride a highly fashionable, £90 quid, Early Rider.

A calm, well-modulated voice drifted distantly toward them from behind.

“Rooo-pert, slow down for Mummy please!”

But Rupert, clearly of the determined and exploratory mode of toddler (as opposed to the quiet, cling-to-Mummy type), paid absolutely no notice and to the combined horror and surprise of the two startled women (whose reactions were too slow to stop him) he hurtled Right . . Across . . The . . Road. Some guardian angel must have been hovering nearby, as there were no moving cars or other traffic as he sped over to the other side. Ramming his push-along bike into the kerb with a loud crash, the tiny child dismounted and was attempting to haul it onto the pavement when his mother, jogging along at a leisurely pace just ahead of her friends, finally caught up with him.

Sunita and PoshMum stood there speechless with shock, waiting for the standard, posh mummy, careful explanation of why little boys mustn’t cross roads without waiting for their mother (or some other responsible adult) to go with them. It never came; instead the young, dark-haired, Boden-type mum blithely continued her conversation with her friends and waved them a cheery goodbye during which the toddler pushed his wooden bike across another road, to all intents and purposes unaccompanied, (he was on the other side before she had even begun to cross) He then disappeared completely between the combined vastness of a parked Porsche ‘Cayenne’ and Jeep ‘Grand Cherokee’.

PoshMum watched as Boden-type Mum walked away, still several yards behind her noisy, happy offspring, still focussed on chatting to her chums; she felt chilled to the bone at what she saw as the other mothers negligence. Had one of those giant cars moved off, the child would have stood no chance – he would have been completely invisible to the hapless driver, who would then probably been sued to bu**ery by the aggrieved parent. All of a sudden, the minute analysis of the teachers every twitch and facial expression with regard to ChildTwo’s reading and writing skills seemed curiously unimportant. She said goodbye to Sunita (having secured a date in the diary for them to go round New Bond Street) and drove away deep in thought.

There were clearly two completely opposite modes of ‘mothering’ within the middle-class mummy world. The first (favoured by PoshMum herself) was the helicopter-parenting, anxious, hovering, over-protective technique, where children who live a mere mile away from school are driven or otherwise accompanied there for fear of muggings, accidents and abductions. Older children are not allowed to wander freely to the Park or the Village on their own for exactly the same reasons. These parents ponder the paradox of how responsible dog owners are told to get them micro-chipped - but children, so much more beloved and precious, cannot be. They organise (and supervise) homework, play-dates and after-school activities with military precision, keeping a wary eye on all computer activity (Bebo, Facebook MySpace, and the like) and keep checks on who is texting their teens.

Then there was the second technique; seven year olds are packed off to prep school on the private coach, leaving the house early and getting back late like miniature business men. Or they hop on train or bus aged ten and go off on their own steam, hiding school crests or ties to avoid being harassed by rival school boys, and concealing mobile phones and MP3’s in shoes (or underpants) to foil would-be-muggers who know where easy pickings can be had. Privacy is respected and computer use unhindered; there is freedom to roam about with other boys (and girls) in the Park. And although there would be the occasional unpleasant ‘incident’ with older kids, this is considered a reasonable price to pay for ‘letting go’ and allowing a child the freedom to operate in the real world. The freedom to grow.

Which style makes the better parent? PoshMum didn’t know; in her last job, the mission statement was the risible ‘Risk Aware, NOT Averse!’ Well, she preferred to be as Risk Averse as possible in order to comfort herself with the thought that whatever happened in this loca vida, she had covered as many bases as she possibly could.

But whichever style was right, these both surely included a proper kiddy harness to restrain a boisterous, toddler.