She’s pregnant? Has someone told her??!!


So, I’m still plodding along, here in Thailand. Yes, the ongoing political unrest has resulted in a military coup. We are safe and well, in case you’re concerned. To be honest it has had very little effect on our lives except for the fact that a very tired pregnant lady got a bonus day off school on Friday (whoop whoop). From what I gather the biggest hardships being experienced here are a lack of bad Thai soap operas since the military cut all TV and radio and people being unable to satisfy their midnight munchies, as 7-11 is closing at 10pm in compliance with the 10pm-5am curfew. I was in bed, asleep last night at 8pm and would rather put pins in my eyes attempt to watch the soap operas, so I remain unperturbed.

Anyone who knows me is aware that I am normally ridiculously uninvolved in political goings on, especially when I am in countries where my opinions don’t matter one jot. However, even I have been sucked in by the complex situation going on here. It’s really interesting to be receiving international news whilst experiencing the full story at the same time. When you are reading on the BBC about a tiny, middle class minority rising up and demanding an end to democracy it sounds a little terrifying. Furthermore when you hear that the military has come barging in and removed a democratically elected government and chucked the constitution out of the window. The situation is a lot more complicated than that.12 million people live in Bangkok. 300 people were protesting the coup yesterday.  This silly little blog about farting and vaginas isn’t really the place to get into it but I will say that I feel a lot more safe with the army on the streets than when the police were trying to stop the violence.

Plus you get hilarious photos like this:

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Land of smiles…and selfies.


Anyway, lets return to scheduled programming.

The title of this post is in reference to a conversation that was relayed back to me earlier in the week. I have found my patience to be wearing a little thinner than usual lately, as witnessed by a colleague who saw me teeter dangerously close to the edge during a difficult lesson with her difficult class. I came as close to swearing as I ever have in five years of teaching and had to stop, mid-sentence, close my eyes and count to 20 before I trusted myself to open my mouth again. After this my colleague had a little chat with her kids:

‘Boys and girls, you have to be good with Miss Emz because her baby is almost ready to come out.’

Student (whose own parents have nicknamed ‘water buffalo’, a pretty offensive name to call a Thai, meaning stupid) ‘What?’

Collegue: ‘Miss Emz is pregnant. Didn’t you know? Didn’t you see her belly?’

Student: ‘Oh my god! Has someone told her? Does she know??!!’


Apart from a very short fuse I haven’t been feeling too bad. Squirt is as active as ever, happily kicking, punching and rolling away…until someone comes at him with an ultrasound wand. Then he hides.

We had our 31st week check-up a few days ago. Dr Porn was happy to report that everything is still normal and on track. Squirt’s weight has slowed slightly and he is now a more average weight, rather than pushing the high end of average, which is a relief for the orifice from which he is intending to exit but a slight, niggly concern for the part of me that has watched too many documentaries and knows that a drop off in weight gain could mean problems. Dr Porn was extremely unconcerned so I am trying to be too.

Squirt has been lying head down, like a good little boy for the last few scans and using the opportunity to invade my rib space with his ‘long, beautiful legs’. After a quick check of heart, brain, fingers, toes, cord and a few long bones we moved onto the 4D, ‘let’s get the money shot’ of his face.

Last time we did this you might remember Squirt was showing us his gymnastic skills by sleeping with his feet above his head and doing his damnest to hide his face. I guess h’e’s too cramped for that so instead he used his arms and hands. We had 20 mins of prodding, jiggling and a carton of OJ to get him to rub his nose and then cover his face again. Then an excited nurse rushed in to tell the doc another patient was delivering down the hall. We were dismissed for 20 mins to walk around and try and wake up Squirt. Sure enough, the minute I stood up he started swirling around and the minute I lay back down he went back into his coma. More jiggling, prodding and a piece of cake and we got the shots below. I was so over it by then I didn’t really mind. I’d rather a 30 mins- ‘yup, he’s healthy’ scan than a 2 hour ‘Wakey, wakey. Show us your face,’ scan.

Dr Porn told me I’d hit my 9 month pregnancy weight gain already so I’m back to trying to be very good. I was doing really well until we got a birthday cake order and I had to try a few cut-offs of WW’s scrumptious chocolate cake. Mmmmm. But I did have uber healthy, cream-free, home-made vegetable soups for dinner every night this week. I also have mostly managed to avoid salty, fried crap and pizza. I must say it has really helped with the heartburn. But I miss cake. And it hasn’t helped with the stinky farting, as WW and the The Monster will attest to.

I still think I’m getting off lightly with this whole pregnancy malarkey. Other than some heartburn, grumpiness, slight back ache (which doesn’t hold a candle to the pain I’m usually experiencing a few times a month) and some uncomfortable kicks, things have been good. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think I might miss the little bugger when he’s not using my bladder as a pillow any more. And not being able to blame my big belly and cake consumption on pregnancy!

That’s all for now, folks!



PS. Ultrasound pics after the jump.

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No, my dog doesn’t sleep in a crib.

“A water please.’  says I in one of our favourite Thai restaurants.

‘Water? Not beer today?’ asks the friendly waitress.

‘Haha,’ I offer, hoping I understood the Thai.

…a little while later….

‘Oh I haven’t seen your friend in so long! She has really changed. She has gained so much weight!’, the friendly waitress tells WW.

‘Uh, she’s pregnant.’ WW replies.

‘Really? Wow, I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend!’

Awkward silence and smiling.

…a little while later….

‘The Monster didn’t come with you today?’ asks the waitress.

‘No, she is at home sleeping.’ says WW.

‘Who does she live with, you or your friend?’

Awkward pause. ‘Me.’ replies WW.


I thought I was out of the ‘fat or pregnant?’ phase but I guess not. Further emphasised by WW’s conversation with our cleaner* earlier today. First I’d like to share a pic of the baby-to-be’s room so you know what I’m talking about:


I got crafty  with the decorations to save a little cash. 50 quid for a mobile? You’re havin’ a giraffe.

We’ve been adding things to this room for a while but today was the first time our cleaner (name-  translates to Little) has seen the crib. And her question for WW?

‘Is that where the Monster sleeps?’



A crib would be lovely, thanks!


Now, I know to her (and most people) the Monster probably appears to be quite a spoiled and privileged little pooch but even we are not that crazy. P’ Little cleans around her cage in the hall every time she comes. She also gingerly vacuums around her ratty dog bed. It really made me wonder what she must think of us. Plus she sees me, belly, tits and all, every week. Hasn’t she figured out I must be pregnant? In her defence she also dusts pictures of our civil partnership ceremony and wedding cake so she might have realised we are lesbians and presumed, in the Thai way, therefore we will not be procreating.

‘So did you tell her I’m pregnant?’ I asked WW after I stopped giggling.

‘No. I just said ‘No, the Monster doesn’t sleep there’. I think it will be funny when we come back from the UK with a baby. Maybe she will think we bought it.’

Oh my god.

So I am going to post a couple of rare pics of my belly so you can get a good mental image of people’s ‘fat or pregnant’ dilemma. Now, before you recognise my face and think I’m dead famous I will warn you that I have skilfully photoshopped in an alternative visage. It’s one thing having your colleagues and relatives reading about your gas and vagina but quite another having the parents of the kids you teach stumbling across this and realising who you are. Although if they’ve run through 3 or more pages of thai-lesbian-pregnancy por.n to find me, I’m not sure I’m the one who should be embarrassed.

10 weeks to go!




*Yes, I work part time and we hired a cleaner, go ahead and judge. In my defence, I am clean freak, it’s 40 degrees here and aint nobody got time for that and furthermore at 10GBP for the whole house SCRUBBED from top to bottom,  it felt criminal not to.  But you can probably tell I am experiencing some middle class guilt about the whole thing.



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How to Talk to Your Kids About Gay People, By a Gay Person

Excellent post!

English: Train Board at Grand Central Terminal Image via Wikipedia

[Note: I originally published this piece here as How to Talk to Your Children About Gay Parents, By a Gay Parent. The post took on a life of its own and was read and shared by lots of people whose kids might be exposed to homosexuality any number of places, and not just through kids with gay parents. So I figured it was time to freshen the piece up a bit and broaden the scope.]

It could happen anywhere, at any time. A train station. A Disney Channel show. The NFL draft.

Your kids are just hanging out, being kids and daydreaming about candy, when suddenly they see…



Or maybe they spot a little girl in the dropoff line at school. She kisses her mom goodbye, and then… she kisses her other mom goodbye!

You feel a tug on your leg, you look down, and…

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‘Congratulations, you have a vaginal infection!’

The title of this post is a direct quote from my doctor today. I’d say it gives a fairly reliable hint at the contents to follow. Consider yourself warned of impending instances of TMI.

So, a little back story….

A post I’ve been meaning to write for a while falls along the lines of ‘X amount of things no one warned me about pregnancy’. Toward the top of that list would be vaginal discharge.  Now we, as ladies are all used to the moistness that comes with possessing a vagina. I was not, however prepared for feeling like I’d peed my pants at various point of the day. Worst still I was not expecting to have to cautiously sniff my underwear to make sure I hadn’t, in fact wet myself.

This had been going on for a while and I didn’t think too much of it. I have managed thus far to avoid some other very unpleasant symptoms of pregnancy so I thought this was my lot. Then I clicked on a ‘random fact’ generator on my pregnancy app this morning 5 am and was plunged into a pit of anxiety by the following statement:

‘An increase in vaginal discharge in pregnancy is normal however if the discharge is thin, bloody or watery you should contact your healthcare provider.’

Thin? Watery? You mean like the completely clear stuff that is leading my to change my pants 3 times a day? Oh, shizzle*.

Dr Google presented me with two options. A. A vaginal infection or B. Leakage of amniotic fluid. Oh, fish sticks.

An afternoon visit to the doctor was arranged. Dr Porn was busy with another patient so I saw a whispery female doctor, whose English was good and who didn’t stumble over words like ‘vagina’. She confirmed Dr Googles two possible diagnosis’. I was led into small room with a very fancy electrical, stirrup chair and treated to my first vaginal exam since the days of dildo cam. Ouch.

I was then herded in for a quick ultrasound where I was informed the baby was fine and a good size (1.5 kilos) but my womb seemed a little small which might indicate I was leaking fluid. Oh, flicking help.

However, after a short sojourn in the waiting room while the lab analysed my inner juices I was brought back into the Dr’s office.

‘Congratulations, you have a vaginal infection. You are not leaking amniotic fluid.’

An interesting way to impart the news but relief was felt, nonetheless. A short course of antibiotics and some vagina bullets and my snatch should be back to it’s happy, less watery self. Phew.


In other, non-vagina related news…

Holy crap I am 29 weeks pregnant and into my third trimester. I think in my last post I was prattling on about how easy it was and how much I was enjoying it. What a difference a trimester makes.

WW informed me today I am starting to ‘waddle like a penguin’. Sexy, huh?

I think my boobs have finally stopped growing for the moment. Although that might be because they are restricted to the point of inhibiting growth in a far-to-small bra.

I have gained 12 kilos. Oops. But I still want more cake.

My 7 month ultrasound went by with lots more ‘bokatid’ (normals), everything is on track with our not so little one.

Today my back ached for the first time in over 6 months but seems better now, so hopefully Squirt was just lying in an awkward position.

It is increasingly difficult to stay asleep. I have to pee every hour or so and then take 4 minutes to rebuild my nest of some 50 pillows.

My brain is mush. I can’t speak, type, spell or read anything other than a kids book. Plus I can’t remember anything. I’ve been meaning to go to the dentist for ages.


IT IS TOO DAMN FREAKING HOT. I have the aircon on full blast plus a fan and I’m sleeping, sweatily under our thinnest blanket while WW shivers under one of our warmest next to me.

I’d like to celebrate a little that I have neither piles nor constipation but I’m afraid of sod’s law coming to get me. I’d like to credit my diet with this amazing feat but I’m not sure if cake and biscuits are widely known for their laxative qualities.

Hello hormones. My happy pregnant days seem to have been a second trimester symptom. I have shouted at my students more in the last week than the last two years combined. Although that might just be because they are being little…boogers.

I found a rare bonus of being a lesbian. I signed up for a ‘let’s get ready to push that watermelon out of our lemon hole’ class for when I am (hopefully) back in the UK. Then they told me they don’t allow partners to attend. Huh? Upon investigation I was informed this is because some women felt uncomfortable doing a movement-based class in front of men. Also it made it easy to discuss things, and here I quote. ‘that might make the guys uncomfortable’. Hello 1950s. You think hearing about birth is uncomfortable? Wait until you’re watching your baby tearing its way out of your screaming, cursing, pooping other half. The bonus is that WW is allowed to attend as she is a tough WOMAN and can therefore cope with discussions of pooping, ripping and tunnel sized vaginas.

Oh and WW got her visa…did I already tell you that? Hooray, or hooray again!


Anyhoo, I think that’s all for now. Take care!




*WW is deeply concerned about our son learning my potty mouth in-utero so I am making an effort to clean up my vocab.