The other day, my nearly-three year old put on her dad’s flip-flops, wobbled into the garden and promptly fell over. And I laughed so hard I almost wet myself.

“You NOT laugh Mummy!” Scolded my child. “It NOT funny!”

That’s when I realised I was about to teach her a big lesson. One that’s right up there with being kind to people and remembering to say “please” and “thank you”.

Because, for me, having the ability to laugh at yourself is a hugely important quality. Not taking yourself too seriously helps you negotiate the tricky patches of life with a smile. It helps you rise above people who put you down, and sail through awkward situations with a winning grin. In short, it makes life so much bloody easier.

Kneeling down, so that my face was eye-level with my daughter’s, I spoke to her. “Remember when we were at Sainsburys that time?” She nodded. “And then I dropped the shopping by the big doors?” A moment of recognition. “And then I bent over to pick it all up and that gust of wind blew up my skirt?” (She’s smiling now) “And you shouted ‘MUMMY I CAN SEE YOUR BUM!’” A broad grin. “It was funny wasn’t it?”

Squealing with delight, my toddler clapped her hands. “You showed your bum! It funny!”

And I agree. It was funny. In that situation I could have scuttled off, red-faced and tearful, in the knowledge that the old bloke behind me had just got an eyeful of my holey Primark pants. But I didn’t. Because it was funny. Instead, I cracked (*ba-da-boom*) a joke and picked up my shopping, chuckling with my tot at my own misfortune.

As I walked past people, they smiled. One lady even laughed that the same thing had happened to her just the other week (they really should do something about that wind tunnel).

Remembering that day had an immediate effect on my toddler, who’d been indignant just seconds earlier.

“I not hurt Mummy,” She said. “It funny, ha ha ha!” And with that, she skipped off smiling.

It’s a lesson my own parents taught me. With his disarming self-deprication my dad can win over even the grumpiest person. My mum’s warm laughter and “gung-ho” attitude to pretty much anything inspired me to try all sorts of activities as a kid, regardless of if I thought I’d be any good at them. I didn’t care if I failed, as long as I enjoyed myself in the process.

And that’s why learning to laugh at yourself is, in my opinion, a key lesson in life. Of all my friends, there’s not one who is self-important or arrogant. The people I see in my life as successful are the ones who possess the power of banter, the odd bit of self-deprication and aren’t so obsessed with appearing “the best” that they actually end up being, well, the best.

When they laugh, people laugh with them. When they have something important to say, people listen. And when they mess up occasionally, they admit it.

This is what I want to teach my child. It’s OK to laugh at yourself. Because if you can’t find the funny in accidentally flashing your bum at Sainsburys, the world will be a very dull place.

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She’s only 17 months but boy, that girl can play me. She rolls over with squeaks of delight when it’s time for a nappy change. She looks at me with a cheeky glint in her eye as she deliberately feeds food off her plate to next door’s dog. She delights in taking Every. Single. Book off the book shelf and then coming to find me to proudly show off her handiwork. Like I said, hair tearing frustration, but also a little bit funny.

I’m proud of this girl of mine. I made her, grew her and have been the main person to look after her for the last 17 months. She is now a confident, non-walking, stubborn, bright, comedian, with a penchant for Wind the Bobbin and making “woof” noises.

Things are going to change in January. She will take her next step into the wide world, without me at her side every minute of the day. But I’m proud of the non-toddling toddler she is and the little girl she is becoming.

And I’m proud of myself for being her mum.

***

This is my entry for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is “Something I Am Proud Of”. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

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After spending the last fortnight trying to encourage Frog to clap for me, it would appear I’ve finally succeeded. But it’s not something I’m pleased about.

Let me explain.

It’s taken two weeks of singing, dancing and general embarrassing behaviour to try to get my daughter to notice me. Despite the most entertaining performances on my part, she’s been completely unimpressed, choosing instead to applaud the lady at Baby Sensory instead. I’m not going to go on about this as I’ve whinged enough about it already. Suffice to say I’m not pleased about the situation.

But it seems I’ve cracked her. Crack being the optimum word in this instance.

Because this morning, I not only got a whole 30 seconds worth of applause from my daughter, she gave me a laugh longer and louder than any I’ve heard from her before. Now, you’d think this would make me happy, but no, it’s actually left me traumatised.

It was the way I got the clap and laugh, you see.

It all stems from Frog’s recent refusal to have a morning nap. Me being the vain woman that I am, I used to put her down for a sleep and use that hour to have a shower, maybe even straighten my hair. Reluctant to start my day smelling like the back end of a baboon, I’ve stuck fast with the shower routine despite my baby’s refusal to go back to bed. Now she comes too – not in the shower, you understand, but into the bathroom. She bounces in her door bouncer, a captive audience to my leg-shaving and hair-washing.

But this morning I dropped the soap. Thinking nothing of it, I turned my back on Frog – who was watching me intently – and bent down. And it was at that moment, with my bare arse pointed to the world in all its glory, that my baby let out the loudest laugh and longest applause I’ve ever heard.

Now, call me ungrateful, but it’s not really the reaction I was looking for. Not that I was hoping she’d wolf-whistle me, that would just be wrong. But she could at least have looked the other way, pretending not to notice the ginormous size of my behind. A huge whoop and clap isn’t the best way to repair the fragile ego of a woman currently battling the post-baby bulge.

I can only draw two conclusions from Frog’s behaviour. Either, she’s an insensitive soul with no regard for her poor mother’s insecurities, or she’s found her future career. I wonder how my mum will react when she finds out her granddaughter is going to become the next Peter Stringfellow?

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