IT is hard to believe that my devoted three-year-old, who now thinks his mummy is just about the best thing in the world, will, one day, consider me little more than a total embarrassment.

But I know this is true. I just have to look at his biggest brothers. Once, they too used to smother me with hugs and kisses, hang on to my every word and cling to me adoringly, like limpets.

Now, at least in front of their friends, my very presence leaves them mortified. It is fine when we are alone, in the privacy of our own home. But in public, I only have to breathe in their company and it offends them. Every utterance, no matter how bland or banal, is enough to make them cringe.

I once picked one of them up from secondary school with a few of his friends and made the mistake of asking: "Did you have a nice day at school boys?"

My son looked horrified: "What did you have to say that for?" he complained afterwards, as if I had stood upside down in my underwear and sung the National Anthem at the top of my voice.

It is almost as if the powerful magnetic attraction between mother and young child twists and turns to the point where the two magnets are facing the wrong direction. To teenagers, we parents literally become repellent.

At least I know I am not the only one. My teenage niece likes to walk home from school with her friends but finds it a struggle with all her games and music bags on one day.

So she has given her mum strict instructions: "Drive alongside us and stop the car. Don't say anything. Don't put your window down. And don't have any of your music playing. I will put the bags on the front seat and you can drive off." Then she walks home with her friends, bag-free.

"The worst thing is, I actually do it," says my sister.

A friend's son goes red with embarrassment when they are out as a family if other people, particularly teenagers, are there. "Recently, were all enjoying take-away pizzas in a park and some skateboarders appeared. My daughter said: 'Where's Jake gone?' and we discovered him on the other side of the park eating his pizza on a bench on his own."

Of course, we've all done it. I remember my sisters and I giving our dad strict instructions when he picked us up from discos to park round the corner and not get out of the car. He was, under no circumstances, to come near the building.

And no matter what outfit my mother wore to our school sports day, I was convinced she had put it on just to humiliate me, and told her so, even though, looking back, she probably looked very nice.

But ever since a recent incident when we stayed at a youth hostel in Scotland, I have to confess my children do have a point when they tell me I am the most embarrassing parent ever.

On the night in question, we were sleeping in a family room, which happened to be on the same corridor as a games room, so I said the older boys could stay up later and play pool, while we went to bed with the younger ones.

When I left them they were in the room on their own, getting on well. But after an hour, I could hear screaming and yelling. This went on for a bit. "They're going to wake people up. This is a family corridor, with lots of young children trying to sleep," I said, getting angrier and angrier.

After 20 minutes, I snapped, got out of bed and marched down the corridor. It was just as I swung the door open, with a face like thunder, roaring: "Rrrrrright...", that I realised the noise was coming from the floor below.

The games room was now full of much older teenagers, dressed in black leather jackets, playing darts, cards and generally sitting around chilling out. My boys were quietly playing pool, desperately trying to look cool.

Everyone looked up, and stared. And there was me, standing in my pyjamas. I looked at my sons as the colour drained from their faces, smiled, and said the first thing that came into my head: "Are you having a nice time boys? Not ready for bed yet?"

Now I can picture them, in years to come, on a therapist's couch, discussing how I have screwed up their lives: "And then my mother appeared - in her pyjamas - and asked us if we were having a nice time..."

It is probably of little consolation to them now. But at least I was as embarrassed as they were...

Published: 13/10/2005