I thought self-driving cars were for tech bros. As a mum who’s driven one, I was so wrong

The most relaxing part of my morning drive was walking from the back door of the car to the driver’s seat after strapping the kids into the car. Today, at 7.54am, I had slept for six hours straight. My daughter was taking off her belts Let it go He demands that I turn up his voice, but in no case does he want me to sing along. My son had dropped his Mickey Mouse toy and insisted I pick it up immediately. Meanwhile, I was merging into rush hour traffic, watching cyclists, monitoring school zones, and trying to keep everyone alive.

For me, the riskiest version of the mental load of parenting is driving with kids in the car when I’m tired and need to be perfectly alert. Research supports what we parents already know: Children are among the most important distractions while driving. A Monash University to work found that parents spent more than three minutes of a 16-minute journey without taking their eyes off the road.

I’m an anxious driver at the best of times, and the school run is never the best of times. When my brother Josh offered to give me a tour of his new self-driving car, my first instinct was: No, thank you.

I didn’t know anyone else who was driving. Tesla’s Fully Self-Driving (Supervised) mode was only released in Australia in September, making us the first right-hand drive market to feature this feature. I felt safe that the rules were quite strict: hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, all legal responsibility is yours. Still, Josh claimed the car did basically everything. Everything?

Against my instincts, I tried this and my reaction was immediate: Ouch. I need this.

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When we pulled out of the driveway, the car… took over. It’s like I gave the steering wheel to a competent stranger who has never once sworn at an intersection. I was still in the driver’s seat, but suddenly I became the passenger. He braked at a red light and swerved to the right without a word of encouragement. He changed lanes with the confidence of someone who always gets enough sleep. A pedestrian stepped out of the middle of the sidewalk in front of us and the car stopped immediately.

The whole time I’m sitting there, my hands on the steering wheel, my mouth open. At one point I was looking out the window, probably looking too casual, and the screen beeped at me to pay attention. He watches your eyes to make sure you’re not mentally checking it; It’s dystopian, but it also feels like a sensible precaution.

Otherwise, the car is surprisingly unobtrusive. There’s no GPS voice telling you your every move, as I expected. You grip the steering wheel lightly to please him, but all those micro-corrections add up when you’re tired and working under tight conditions. Frozen-relevant performance ratings suddenly weren’t my problem. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.