Mothers! Abandon the church hall! Put down that chewed rattle! Grab your children and head for the door. For I have seen the future of play groups, drop-ins and crèches, and it is bobby-dazzling, super-luxurious and just as much about the mother as the child. So bid goodbye to draughty community centres, and past-their-best custard creams and say hello to frothy cappuccinos, lavender-frosted cupcakes and tailor-made mummy massages.

May I introduce you to the latest parenting phenomenon, mother and baby private members' clubs. Two have opened in London this year; Cupcake in Putney, South London, and Maggie and Rose in Kensington, West London, with more planned for next year. They are a place for mums of babies and young children to meet like-minded souls, enjoy a spa treatment or exercise class, or simply to have uninterrupted “me time” while their offspring are looked after in an all-singing, all-dancing onsite crèche. Sort of like a Groucho Club Junior, but with smoothies and milk instead of cocktails and champagne.

I imagine some of you are scoffing into your cornflakes, laughing at the conceit of today's mums with their endless list of wants, £500 buggies, and personal Pilates instructors. And I wouldn't blame you for thinking that because, initially, I was sceptical, too. Motherhood in all its milky-breathed glory should be reward enough, I thought, without this endless stream of clubs/events/services that promise to make mothers' lives easier and more fulfilling but which is really just high-end consumerism masquerading as support.

How I became a convert to the club

I imagined a place full of size-zero yummy mummies having a pedi, reading Heat and quaffing champagne, while throwing the occasional bored glance over their cashmere-clad shoulder to check that Tarquin the Third was not giving the crèche staff too much trouble. But then I visited and - hallelujah! - there will be no turning back.

It was a hot and humid Tuesday morning. I was sticky. My toddler was stickier. My ten-week old baby was crying. I was running late. It had taken me 40 minutes to leave the house and I still hadn't managed to persuade Elizabeth, 2, to wear any knickers. My hair was greasy and because my body hadn't pinged back from the ravages of pregnancy, I was still in maternity clothes.Cursing silently I walked into the Cupcake club and it was impossible not to be impressed.

Inside it is like a five-star spa. There are chaises longues, French mirrors, fresh flowers, magazines and spanking new toys. In one corner there is a welcoming crèche with even more welcoming staff, and in another “Mimi's Café”, with quirky mismatched china crockery and towers of home-made cupcakes.

Babies were bouncing in bouncy chairs, toddlers toddling and mums relaxing and chatting to each other. It was like being in a parallel universe. Or the mini-Boden catalogue. The endlessly charming Cupcake staff float around taking drink and food orders and generally helping out.

Rachel Menzies-Gow, a 38-year-old investment banker, visits Cupcake about four times a week with her one-year-old daughter, Caitlin. She says: “I was attracted by the crèche and the gym, but also the social aspect to it. It's really relaxed and if you're on your own you soon start chatting to people. Caitlin wanders around and I know I can relax because it's completely safe.”

Cupcake offers you the chance to buy into a ready-made community and although in an ideal world we would all have a support network available free on our doorsteps, the transient nature of modern life means that many new mothers feel isolated; indeed, one in ten suffers from post-natal depression.

Cupcake's founder, Karen Hastings, 32, says the club is not about “yummy mummies” but about providing support for new mothers. It can be hard to get someone to look after your kids for an hour while you go out or just have some time to yourself. That's where we come in. There are three key things that we're about: community, wellness and indulgence. Our typical member is between 30 and 45 and they are just normal professional women looking for a place to meet friends and get support.”

Although not yet a mother, Hastings was inspired to start Cupcake after her pregnant friends complained about what was on offer. “They felt life hadn't moved on since their mothers' times. Before they became mums they had a lovely time, with nice dinners and nights out, and all of a sudden they were on a dirty church hall floor having antenatal classes. They found it quite a shock,” she says.

One pomegranate, rose and vanilla smoothie later and my hectic morning started to ebb away. I ordered a tasty goat's cheese and fig salad while Elizabeth slurped her way through spaghetti and meatballs and several mini cupcakes. I cunningly handed her over to staff in the crèche just in time for her sugar rush to kick in, while I trotted off to the spa for a massage. It was the first time I had left my youngest, Sophia, but it was impossible to be anxious because I was just a flight of stairs away.

The new mother massage was heavenly and took place on a squidgy warm waterbed. It is all done on your back, so you don't have to disturb possible C-section scars or swollen breasts. The physical strain of pregnancy and of lugging around a two-year-old on my hip slid away and I switched off mentally for what felt like the first time in months.

There's a womb-like sleep pod

Cupcake also offers Pilates, first-aid and antenatal classes, talks and seminars, as well as a SenzOri sleep pod; just 15 minutes in this giant womb-like capsule is the equivalent of an hour-and-a-half's deep sleep, it claims. Of course, all this costs: a one-off £125 joining fee and £125 a month after that. But if you use the facilities regularly and take lots of classes, it is surprisingly good value, as only the spa and crèche cost extra (the crèche is £4 an hour).

Many leisure centres across the country - private and municpal - offer crèches, soft-play gyms and classes for babies. They may not be as luxurious or slickly packaged as Cupcake, but they provide the same basic function.

While Cupcake is all about the mums, Maggie and Rose in Kensington is all about the kids. It was set up by Maggie Bolger, a mother of four. She says: “I was sick of going to soulless locations; I wanted a place that my kids loved but also a place that I loved.” Maggie and Rose is a beautiful space, with creative artwork on the walls and a fabulous soft-play gym. There is an organic café, smiley staff and a small shop selling lots of nice baby things that you don't really need but want to buy all the same. It really is just a wonderful relaxing place to hang out. Dads, grannies and nannies are welcome. At the weekend children flop on giant beanbags in the cinema area watching a film, while parents enjoy brunch and read the papers in peace.

Classes are as unusual as they are inventive. We went to one that was based around Oliver Twist: we read bits of the book, sang the songs from the film, made clay bowls and pretended to be Oliver asking for some more. It was, in the words of Elizabeth, “great fun!”.

Although motherhood has become consumerised, there is still a residual feeling that it should remain pure and unsullied by capitalism - what was good enough for our mothers should be good enough for us too. This is, of course, utter cobblers and would be like suggesting that we throw out our washing machines in favour of a good old-fashioned mangle and lye soap.

Admittedly, private parent clubs are exclusive, and although there is nothing wrong with draughty church halls, I think we would all prefer a little more luxury in our lives and a Cupcake on our doorstep. I know I do.

www.cupcakemum.com; www.maggieandrose.co.uk

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