Honest K

MASKING INSECURITIES WITH HUMOUR AND SARCASM SINCE 1987

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  • feminism feminist

    Feminism has gone too far! We can’t touch people…

    / August 10, 2018 / 3 Comments

    “I’m all for feminism, but it’s getting out on hand. I’m scared that if I pat my colleague on the back, I’ll be hauled up for sexual assault. Are we not allowed to touch people anymore?! It’s…

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  • Mid Mid-life crisis

    / March 25, 2018 / 12 Comments

    It can't be a mid life crisis, I'm not even 30! Oh dear oh dear.

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  • Depression parenthood

    I want to believe

    / February 13, 2018 / 13 Comments

    I want to believe I am the best thing since sliced bread. I want to believe every heart felt word or encouragement from my partner’s mouth. I want to believe I am the best mum for my…

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  • Honest Milestones

    / May 17, 2017 / 20 Comments

    Some of the firsts that the baby books don't list

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  • Pressure

    / May 5, 2017 / 26 Comments

    Pressure! Pushing down on me, pressing down on you, no (wo)man asked for

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  • Peeeppppa Pig – Pass the wine

    / April 10, 2017 / 19 Comments

    I'm claiming my parent sacrifice medal for this one

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Kirsty
Babys can't self soothe, I'm neglecting him as I p Babys can't self soothe, I'm neglecting him as I pull the door closed. The thoughts fuel my guilt for an instance. He needs a comforting mother at 2am, in excess of 2 hours, for the 4th day in a row. A sleep regression, the likely culprit for this recent shit show. So much online tells me that it's wrong and unfair to leave him crying. None of this is fair. Not to me, when I broke down earlier in the day. Frustration rolled down my face while shame fluttered over me. I cannot be that soothing mum at 2am. Anger sweeps over me when I hear him fuss for the 10th time that hour. His cry sounding just as pissed off as I am. I can't go back in there. I can't hold him to sleep. I can't deal with this nightly dance, again. I can provide many things for my children, night patience is not one of them. So I close the door, marking my boundary. As I lay down, I rid myself of the guilt. I cannot go back in there, no matter what neglect and trauma I'm supposedly causing. I can guarantee it's lesser that a snarl filled mother snapping at both kids, holding back tears as the words 'fuck off' want to escape. As per, the needs of the parent are failed in parenting research. Presuming that the parent is fully charged and able to provide the calming voice of reason to endure comfort at 2am, for hours. Avoiding the dreaded 'cry it out method'. I can't. I just can't. And that doesn't mean anything about me as a mother. More to do with sleep deprivation and emotional intelligence on my part. So I say, seriously, fuck off to the guilt. I'm a human too. And a few nights of kid upset is far better than weeks of a depressed mother. Cry it out and its benefits/drawbacks are not up for debate here. Unless you want to talk about the link between rage, sleep and depression. Parents have needs too. (My mate bought me this t-shirt from @abandonshipapparel years ago. If only my 1 year old could read). #12monthsleepregression #GTF #cryitout #needsmust #itwillpass #sowillmysanity
The use of hashtags for the banter gets right up m The use of hashtags for the banter gets right up ma itty bitty pregnancy battered titties. People crack out mental health for likes, the latest trend to accumulate followers. Body image, stretch marks and (toxic) body positivity follow suit. Being used as a means to boost engagement, beat the dreaded algorithm people hang by as a need to validate their page. When you use a hashtag for likes, you create white noise, hiding actual decent and helpful content that others need to see. #stretchmarks shouldn't be of a woman gyrating about the place, showing how her belly expands over the day. Not once showing her silver lines, nor eluding to them in a any way. I always say, each to their own, but some people are taking the piss. We need to see truth on social media, the flip side can have damaging consequences. If you're going to use a hashtag, be mindful that people might actually want to see some truth behind it. Not all of us are here for you to build a platform upon. So please stop stressing my tits out, they have been through enough. Cheers. #gieitaby #stretchedtomalimit #punintended
To the women, being seen but not heard. To mother To the women, being seen but not heard. To mother 'nagging' about the unequal load of parenthood, screaming while it takes a mental toll. To the 'diva' female, being dragged in the mud, refusing to perform the unnecessary chest shot. To the women who need to prove their worth as soon as they set foot in a male environment. To women in work, 5 years a senior, yet belittled due to her gender. To the girls, who will be sexualised far too soon, dealing with harassment for life - that's what it means to be a girl. To the women building a business, while 'sacrificing' a family. To the women who humour sexism, to prevent an awkward situation. To the women quizzed on the role of her uterus, squirming at the intimate questions. To the women, who seek validation after being told they are not worthy. To the women who feel guilt and shame, for not being maternal enough or motherly enough. To the women traumatised during childbirth, who later learn about informed consent. To the girls who think they can not, when no one has told them they can. To the women, who hide their body, to protect the sins of others. To the women who are often too scared to speak up, even to their detriment. To the women who need to justify, constantly, their choices in life. It's all women. Challenge for the change that is needed for women to be heard as equals. There is no fight. It's equality, plain and simple. #ChooseToChallenge
It's from 2020, simmer. I've just no wiped it. Due It's from 2020, simmer. I've just no wiped it. Due on the 22nd, ha, I'll crack the jokes mate. Things just got more and more intense after that. So upset after yet another trip to the midwife, telling me Ben was nowhere near engaging. His head popping in and out my pelvis. Absolute wee bam. Reluctantly I got induced, not before I had to relive why I was refusing it in the first place. Over and over. I don't want to be induced because I don't want to be threatened with 'I'll need to cut you' - 5 years later, I still don't know why it was said. Words matter. Words from health care professionals matter more. Anyway, just wanted to flaunt that I went out on 2 social occasions that week. 2. Jeez. What a life we had a year ago. Think I lost all hope after the 22nd, and didn't wipe and write new weekly events. I was so deflated and terrified of having my baby forced out of me. Turns out, it was the best thing I've ever done. Then Ben was born and lockdown happened, why would I wipe it? To write 'go for another fucking walk'. I'll see how long I can keep it like this, see how long it takes before I get any reason to wipe it. I had a hot water bottle, full of water from the night I was contracting with Jess. 5 years the water was in there. 5. It made me emotional to think about it. Filthy water making me emotional. Parenthood. Wtf.
The greatest love affair you will ever see, a boy The greatest love affair you will ever see, a boy and his (well, his sisters) burger 💖 #truelove #happy #burgentines
Image Reposted from @_happyasamother I love this Image Reposted from @_happyasamother I love this graphic 💖 I'm so proud, and in awe at the dad by partner has become. How we have grown with each other, and continue to navigate parenthood. He holds us together, he always has 💖
Does it hurt to speak about my depression? Sometim Does it hurt to speak about my depression? Sometimes. It depends how deep I go. Using the word hate next to 'my baby', hurts more the further I get from that time. I don't relate with this mum anymore, how can hate and baby be in the same place. The same place I hold this child in deep, all consuming love now. It weighs heavy on me, what will she think when she's older? The longer time passes the more the word becomes powerful. The more I shift, thinking of the word hate and my baby makes me feel ashamed and upset. Sometimes I need to remind myself of my depression, most of it is suppressed. Pretty blasé about the whole event. Used to saying PND in my parenthood journey, jaded to how I felt at the time, unable to feel those moments anymore. But fully able to feel guilt for my words now. No one should do that. It was never a choice to feel that way, to push people out, self destruct. It did happen, I did lack love, my life was a chore. To myself, I'm justifying how I felt. It's easy to judge when you aren't in that position, when you can't relate. It's worse to have lived it and to judge your own words. I use hate and love because they are powerful, loaded words. They encompass a range of feelings, surmising what you maybe can't say. Two comfortable words learnt early in life. They don't exist exclusive of each other. They don't reflect the true situation, not all the time. But they are comfortable to say, to be heard. They both play a part in parenthood, arguably the biggest forces that keep parents pushing forward. Let's never underestimate the feelings behind these words, especially when it can take great courage to express them in the first place.
So a gets and email today, that says a will be on So a gets and email today, that says a will be on the telly box on Monday the 8th Feb at 22:30. Thats the show name there, Bump Birth Baby - coz a kept forgetting the order of the words. Despite it being logical and aw that. And it's on BBC Scotland. So stop sending me DMs asking. And stop sending me DMs wi banging screenshots of ma face. Unless you want to meme them and make me laugh. Naw, a don't know how you can view it outside the UK. Sorry. If you know of anyways to do this, let us know. Coz a am being chinned for it and a hate not having the answer. And naw, ill no be watching coz I am mortified to see myself on the TV. Am game for anything, but also a big shitebag. Might watch it wi subtitles from behind the sofa. But if my story and struggle with PND helps, then I'd be on that telly mortified for all a could be! Cani wait to see the plethora of faces a pull. Have a shot for each crazy eye a pull 🙄 #onthetelly #purefamous #sorrywhoareyou #talktomymanager #shescurrentlyaskingforasnack #mafacesaysathousandwords
Responsibility of little lives is hard. During a p Responsibility of little lives is hard. During a pandemic, it's crushing. Worry comes hand in hand with children, but never have we had to worry so much about their physical and mental wellbeing. And to be honest, im struggling. To question high emotions of your child, to police yourself in response to them. For an easily over stimulated parent, out of character wails and breakdowns are very hard. I know better than to scold and say 'stop!'. I know better than to use my power and authority for my own benefit, Lord over an upset child and tell them to go and calm down. Fighting screams with screams. I've done it before, and swore I would never do it again. But as the days pass, the almighty scream beast is poking out. This climate is far too much for parents. The worry, the pressure, the trying to stay stable in your own head while balancing the entire family upon it. Happy mum, happy life they say. And by fuck do we feel that responsibility. I know my kids need me to play happy mum, but that's been depleted by 10am. I'm a human during a pandemic underneath my mum robe. I'd love to kick back enjoy the hobbies and freedom. I'd love to take a day for me. But I'd still be a mum, first and foremost. That's the job. Watching my kid erupt over 'nothing' reminds me, hourly, of the strain we are under. That it takes a village, for them and me. The impact of just getting through the day are showing. Emotions are being pressured and eruptions are bursting, both child and adult. I'd love not to play mum for a while. I miss being just me. I miss being in a couple. I miss having time to talk utter shite with people. I miss having the want to talk utter shit with people. I miss not being a robot that gets charged at night (sometimes) only to get up and play the previous day all over again. I miss the normal worries about my children. Fuck, I even miss the soft play. #lockdown2021 #daysarelong #wastedtime #survivalmode #justkeepgoing #fuckoffrona
Tell you what, lucky he's cute with a smile that c Tell you what, lucky he's cute with a smile that could melt Satan's soul. Coz at 3, 4, 5 am I get that yeety feeling amidst his screams, dad snores and Jess complaints. Although, it's not long before the mums 'what the actual fuck' not so muffled sighs wake the whole house. A safety net for Mr Anti-Sleep, cani toss the baby when the big sis is about. Several times already, she has confirmed that you cannot sell Ben on Ebay. Nor can the baby be put in the bin, not even quickly on collection day. That's maybe the downside to having a 5 year age gap, the third parent. Not that I'm saying Dad is on board with a baby flying oot the windae. But if I said I could give a night of 5 hours UNINTERRUPTED sleep, aye well, I'm pretty sure he would see sense. Unlike that maw of a big sis. #ootyeago #showme #sleepporn #kidsaresavage #sleepisfotheweak #saymykids #thenightsarelong #thattheyfuckingare
Turns out, if your neighbour is also a fellow pare Turns out, if your neighbour is also a fellow parent who is up to their eyebaws in wains climbing up their arse and over being a snack bitch, you don't need to muffle the scream. In fact, they may also partake in a wee ragey scream with you, no judgment required. Might start a 'Rage Rangers' scream club. We can tandem scream, drown out the sounds of the wains and maybe get some fucking sanity back. #lockdown2021 #ragerangers #rage #boredaf #caniturnroonbutawainisinmaface #personalspace #mawporn #screamifyeawanttogotoacafe #screamifyeawanttoboltforthehills #screamyatitsaff
Get those positive vibes right up yer arse, send m Get those positive vibes right up yer arse, send me a link for new ways to hide from people within your own home. Starting to think the spider infested loft looks pretty silent and snug at this point. #lockdown2021 #wheresjoewicksnow #fuckedoffliketherestofus #bakemeagettofuckcake
Postnatal rage, thats exactly what it is. Thankful Postnatal rage, thats exactly what it is. Thankful a frantic Google search brought up a term, a reason, an explanation for what I'm feeling. Being woke at 645 doesn't justify this mood. Rage, swirling beside the need to calm down. So angry, over nothing. All of a sudden it flipped, to the familiar, yet past, feelings of being trapped. Knowing my mood is not necessarily mine, but not knowing how to stop it. Just like depression. Being trapped in my own mind and just hoping the mood leave me. There's something so helpless and lonely, frightening, when you mentally beg for the mood to stop. When you feel out of control of your own mind. For months I've been waking with clenched fists, tongue rammed to the roof of my mouth. For weeks my mood has an air of 'fuck off', 'its always me', 'just stop'. Waking in a rage of a mood is uncharacteristic, wanting to scream into a wall at 7 is downright diagnosable. I felt huge relief when I seen the term postnatal rage. I know enough to see my behaviour isn't me, nor do I feel bad, guilty. I do wish there was an easy way to stop it, the lack of patience, quick temper, the extreme vice around my body that makes my teeth grind and neck ache from tension. I don't have the answer to what seems like an overwhelming situation, but then again I didn’t know the beast that was PND until I faced it head on. #postnatalrage #welp #ragebestronginthisone
I lived in a bubble in 2020, and not the social on I lived in a bubble in 2020, and not the social one. One filled with a newborn, adjusting to a family of 4, my first born growing up to be a school girl, sibling laughs and love. My bubble was my family. I was more than happy for that to be my focus in a time when the rest of the world was going to shit. My 2020 was a good year, dare I say one of the best I've had. I gave birth and loved my baby. Healing trauma from my first birth experience. Experiencing, from the onset, the overwhelming parent love towards a child. Again, healing years of darkness, tears, pain, doubt and depression. Unwillingly, I let go of 2020. The year I gave birth for the last time. Breastfed for the last time. The year my baby boy was born. The year I seen what real unconditional love looks like. My bubble of newborn and baby life is about to pop. Ill be hitting 2021 home schooling and with baby about to enter toddler phase, who demands constant entertainment. Oofty. My 2020 was selfish, intimate and enclosed. Much of it out of necessity, boundaries hard in place to protect our mental health. Im proud to say we done that. A testament to our relationship, coming out of the previous 5 years of darkness to enjoy one of the biggest years in our worlds history. 2020 was an absolute shitshow, but I choose to see only the light. And enjoy as much of it as possible. 2020 made me the mum I thought didn't exist. But I still draw the line at baby groups, so thank fuck for that.
Best friends. Never seen a bond like it 💖 from Best friends. Never seen a bond like it 💖 from birth, Ben has loved his sister. Jess constantly reminds us Ben is cute, she loves Ben the most - which is a big deal. Considering since she was little, she has always said she loves both parents equally. I adore seeing how much the love each other 💖 I also adore watching Ben annoy the shit out of Jess on the daily 'Beeeeeennnnnnn, no!' Sweet, sweet revenge for years of Jess abuse. #grateful #siblinglove #bestbuds
You don't need to enjoy this festive time. Make up You don't need to enjoy this festive time. Make up for a shitty year. You sure as shit do not need to get into debt, to make it 'extra special' or be swayed by media outlets pulling at your purse strings via guilt and COVID. You can endure, get through, slap on a smile or feel whatever it is you need to feel. I'm one for blinkers, not looking anywhere other than right here, today, right now. Pouring all my focus onto my children, Ben's first christmas. I've done nothing extra or different this year, other than try to enjoy my young children as much as possible. Which is little to do with the pandemic, and more to do with PND - or lack of. The current climate is a shitshow, I don't dwell or even think about it. It's too much for me. The impact this is having on children, the vulnerable, the poor and the mental health of an entire world. Christmas is always, always hyped up. A struggle for many. This year will be right up there with the shittest for many people. I will be visiting a dinner table with missing people and it hurts. But I get to visit a table, with my family, my 2 children. For that alone I'm grateful. In a time when everything seems a bit shit, all I can be, hang onto, is being grateful. I focus on all my luck and everything I'm grateful for, to pull my focus away from all that is missing, all the change, all that has been taken this year. Let Christmas 2020 be whatever it needs to be for you. #benknowsthescore #ronaxmas #2020bewild #emptyseats #lovedones #family #grateful #luckymum #2021gonnabewild #overitmate
Image Reposted from @fucked_off_dad Accurately de Image Reposted from @fucked_off_dad Accurately depicts Jess on her way back up the stair, for the 283738389 time. Fuck the festive period btw, this kid is on kid kristmas krack! Absolutely BUZZING for every new day. Help ma fuckin boab man.
9 months, 6 days and we are done with breastfeedin 9 months, 6 days and we are done with breastfeeding. Much like his sister, it came to a natural end. But unlike the first time, I'm breaking my heart at the end of our journey. I won't feed again. My newborns are gone, the baby phase is rapidly coming to an end. Strange really, as I'm not coy on sharing how much I do not enjoy babies, nor the toll breastfeeding can have on the body and mind. More so the mind. I find being the sole food supplier extremely taxing. Now it is over, I feel sadness. So much, overwhelming, hot tears of sad. And I can't place why. Hormones, sure. But there's a feeling of loss. I hugged Ben so close and tight, putting him down to sleep after our failed feed. As I held him, I cried like I would never see him again. Like I was putting down one baby, and would wake to see a new one. So strange and, ultimately, silly. Yet those are the feelings I had. Thats what it meant for me to have and feed my babies. I'm well aware, after my first, how so precious time is and how quickly it passes. It all passed, unnoticed with Jess. No seeing the 'last times'. A luxury now that I think about it. It's painful to hold your baby and know this is the last time he, or any baby will feed from my chest. Although I am extremely happy, and wanting of that choice, it doesn't make it less painful, hard, or sob inducing. I couldn't go any more opposite in my feelings and views on parenthood, as I have between my first and second. Seeing both sides of hate and love, towards my babies. Adding all the more emotion towards our 'end'. Two polar opposite stories, combining to really pull the tears out, straight from my heart it feels. Never an advocate of breastfeeding, I'm so glad, and lucky, to have done it twice. There's nothing I regret or would change. Other than maybe having a little longer to feed Ben - who would have thought it eh. #endofbreastfeeding #breastfedbaby #formulafeeding #breastfeedingmom #titsaredone #literally #mybabies #myloves
Maw. A hate. Your. Shite. Maw - lol Ben. #happymaw Maw. A hate. Your. Shite. Maw - lol Ben. #happymaw #unhappybaby #benbantz #errandlife #hesthrilled #noreally #wantedtohodamirror #dafty #laughmate #itillsoonbechristmas
9 months as a second time mum, free of PND. Can a 9 months as a second time mum, free of PND. Can a get a YALDAE! PND was the biggest factor in the age gap of our children. One conversation that said, point blank, no to a second. We cannot risk going back into that shithole of despair and numbness. The second conversation, filled with the longing for a child that we both knew we wanted, yet muddied still with the relics of PND. Here he is, here we are, 9 months in. Theres been days, weeks, I watched the clock. Wishing time away. Theres been days I have cried feeling trapped and alone. Theres days I question, wtf, 2 kids? Can I do this? But never a day have I held onto guilt. I have seen me at my worst, I know my strength and what it takes to make me lash out in tears. It takes a baby. They are difficult, demanding, unrewarding for several months, moaning faced, needy and attention hungry. 24/7. By design I'm afraid. Regardless of your energy levels or mood. I needed someone to tell me this 5 years ago. Im not a monster, never was. Its ok to scream into a wall. Its ok to say 'thats plenty' and walk into another room, making escape plans with a friend. Its ok to let others in, they get it. It's really, really ok to say you are not enjoying your baby, for that moment. Who decided we should enjoy babies anyway?! Bizarre when you think about it. I lap up every single second of enjoyment I can with Ben, I didnt have it first time. If there is anyone enjoyment deficit, its me. But even I hate on days with my beautiful baby. The maw that was robbed the first time. Im not in the horrible false realm of PND so far, and for that I'm so thankful. I'm also not in the realm of 'babies are amazing', coz thats more bullshit than PND. #9months #secondbaby #pndfree #yaldae #itcanhappen #healing #babiesarestillshittho
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