In praise of the Smug Mummy.

My name is Kelly. I am 32 (or 28 if a handsome young fellow asks) and I am a Smug Mummy. And proud.

chloepuntingI wholeheartedly believe my child is wonderful and am happy to celebrate that. If people tell me she is great or gorgeous or funny or polite or anything good… I say thank you. I do not try to pull a face and say ‘oh well, you should see her when…’ because there is no need to. Live in the moment. Your kiddo is great – great enough for someone else to need to tell you in fact!

Last night was parent’s evening, and after a glittering review on her progress from her teacher, her father turned to me and asked…

‘Aren’t you tired of hearing how great she is?’

What a ridiculous question. Of course not. You’re not likely to put as much blood, sweat and tears – often literally – into anything compared to raising your kids, so why not celebrate that something has gone right? If that makes me a Smug Mummy, so be it.

Self depreciation seems to be ingrained in British culture. If someone compliments your outfit, you’re supposed to counter with how it was in the sale or how you’re just trying to hide your muffin top. Or detract from the bird’s nest on your head. I don’t advise you to morph yourself into Samantha Brick, but you’re allowed to love what you’re wearing, surely?

Someone loves the dinner you served? Obviously it’s ‘something you just through together’ or could have used more garlic/less salt/a bit more unicorn horn.Even if you’ve completed what feels like a five-hour Masterchef audition and your kitchen looks like an ample skirmish occurred there earlier that evening.

But why? Why not stand up and take the flattery? Goodness knows it’s hard to come by.

So next time someone tells you that your little one is great, thank them. And grin. And be that Smug Mummy. Because these are the comments you can cling to next time they’re using your Chanel lipstick as grease paint for the dog or refusing to eat the meal they loved 20 minutes ago ‘because it smells like nuts and poo’.

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