I'm a ranty kind of person. Always have been.

I don't know exactly why or where it comes from but my wild guess is that it's a mixture of my angry dad's genes and the constant need for acceptance from other people.

My language is foul and my parenting skills are far from Mary Poppins at times.

One positive thing I can proudly say about myself is that I've always liked to write. Whether I'm any good at it or not is something I'm yet to discover but I've always admired the honesty of the female bloggers that I follow,  especially the mothers.

Thing is, it's no secret that motherhood turns into a massive fucking competition. My newsfeed is full of perfect lives, perfect relationships,  perfect children and perfect houses. I'm no exception to this. When in reality, my daughter is no stranger to Netflix and a bag of Crisps and half the time she can't even wipe her own arse properly. 

I admire mothers who will happily post a picture of their snotty, half naked child wading through three days worth of untouched housework, even when every other fucker will only post a picture online if they've bleached their child, got the backdrop out and taught them French poetry. 

Motherhood shouldn't be a competition. It should be a journey.  Learning to embrace the things that make you cringe the most and learning to laugh off the things that would make most of your Facebook mothers faint in disgust.

I don't want to hear how Abigail learnt to recite the alphabet in sign language.  I want to hear about the kids that tell you they've got an itchy bum in the line at the bank, or the kids that call their toys a dickhead because they won't sit up properly.  Those are the kids I love.  The quirky ones.

So if you get anything from this piece of shit, thrown together blog (that I didn't even spellcheck), make it this: at least once, post a picture, story,  whatever online about your kids. But don't make it a time when they've been cute and clever. Make it a time when they've been a little twat and you want to throw them out the window, or a time when they've made you die with embarrassment. 

I'll start!

When my biggest small was 2 we went swimming. I was due on my period so I thought it would be wise to be safe. So when Olivia was rummaging through my bag I saw my opportunity to swiftly put a tampon in. Wrong move.  Mid-squat she turns around and shouts "mum why are you putting that in your bum?" *changing rooms go completely fucking quiet *

Why the fuck did I teach you to talk?! 

This is probably the only parenting advice you'll get from me, and you probably won't want to take it after you've heard some of my stories but here goes anyways. Don't sweat the small stuff. They won't remember the age you taught them the alphabet or how to tell the time. They'll be most grateful for the way you taught them to be confident, original and outspoken.

Teach them to be the person you'd love to be yourself. Teach them to survive in a world of opinionated wankers and judgmental arseholes.

Thanks for listening to me try and feel better about my parenting 😉

Stay honest!

Kelsey x