You take the high road….

Did you see that article in the newspaper about the woman who gave birth mid long-haul flight? Well it wasn’t me ūüôā

We rocked up to the airport 3 hours early, I made doe¬†eyes, stuck my belly out and politely asked if it might be possible to upgrade. The BA lady said sure…if we paid for it. Damn. There goes my last chance to rub shoulders with the hoitytoity. C’est la vie.

The flight was OK. The first 8 hours were easy but my legs couldn’t decide if they’d rather mimic elephants or sausages for the last 4. I also pissed off the bitchy flight attendant with my numerous requests for water. Yes, I was drinking a half litre an hour but I did drag my pregnant ass over to them every time, rather than push the button above me like the alcoholics wine lovers a few rows down. I was a bit underwhelmed with the airline all in all. The food was horrid and few and far between. We took off at 11am, were fed around 12.30 (chicken and rice) and not again until around 8.30pm our time (a different variety of chicken a rice). Luckily I came prepared with WW’s brownies, crisps and apples so I didn’t have to resort to cannibalism. I will be flying with a different airline next time.

We then arrived in Heathrow and faced a four-hour wait until our flight to Glasgow. After 2 hours I went to the bathroom (again) and was gutted to see that two BA flights to Glasgow had been delayed. WW checked 40 minutes later and hurried back to tell me our flight was now listed as closed. Que a 250 yard 8 month pregnant sprint through Heathrow. WW was just getting started blaming my pregnancy brain when we encountered 6 other people at the gate who had seen the same message. Again the staff were pretty unhelpful and unfriendly but luckily were able to put us on another flight which was boarding right then. We were assured our bags would make it on with us but of course they didn’t.

So, after 24 hours of travelling we were very glad to benefit from my cousin’s hospitality in Glasgow, catching 3 and a half hours sleep before jet lag and Scottish summer woke me up. We were able to get our bags from the airport at midday and then had a 3 hour car ride before finally arriving at my parents’ house in deepest, darkest Scotland.

Only it wasn’t so dark! Miracle of miracles the sun shone for three days straight. Temperatures soared to 26 oC, we went on some lovely walks in the countryside and I got sunburn. Of course it has been 16 oC, overcast and showery spells since then, but summer was nice while it lasted :-).

We’ve been here over a week now and have gotten into the swing of things. We risk the clouds and threatening rain to complete a 2 mile walk every day, which I can now complete without having to stop for a break. Well, I rarely make it round without a pee¬†break but I don’t need to rest any more. I’ve gotten quite adept and fearless about peeing in fields. Thus far I think only the local wildlife has been treated to views of my big, white ass flying high in the skyline.¬†Later we watch some TV or get frustrated by he crappy internet signal and non-existent phone service. And then we cook dinner. Or rather, WW cooks dinner while I offer moral support and tasting expertise.

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Pregnancy-wise things are definitely getting more uncomfortable. When I sit or lie down  I feel like there is not enough space in my chest for my ribs. When I stand up and start walking it takes me a few steps to stop looking like a Old-Age-Penguin. I have constant gaviscon breath from swigging a pint a day to keep the fires from hell at bay. But I do feel healthier and am sleeping better with all the exercise and fresh air.

I had a chat with the local midwife and am seeing her for the first time this afternoon. She used phrases like ‘if you’re happy with that’ and ‘ if you’re comfortable’ three or four times during our conversation which was a new, somewhat thrilling experience for me. Actual choices and the option to refuse a medical professionals requests? Golly. I’m still expecting to get a hard time about my diet. There has been a lot of cake. A LOT of cake.

My boss emailed me to say that my maternity leave starts the day I give birth, not from the first day of the school term, like I thought, which is a bit of a blow. Now I am torn between feeling uncomfy¬†and wishing Squirt would vacate the premises and praying he’ll overstay so I don’t have to go back until mid November.

Well I think that’s¬†enough slaverin’ for one day.




We are a go!



The Great Thai Birth Escape plan is finally happening. On Wednesday I had another checkup and was handed the much lusted-after ‘fit to fly’ paper. Flights, transfers and connections are booked. It doesn’t sound like a particularly fun journey but I’m happy regardless.

There were a few times during the week when I thought it wasn’t going to happen. I spend Monday night lying awake trying to decide is the pains in my stomach were gas, braxton hicks or actual contractions. Still not sure, but I’m leaning towards gas.

Wednesday saw me slip going down the stairs at work and bump, inelegantly down the last few on my ass. Squirt dealt with this rough and tumble by bouncing and hiccuping his way through the next hour, which was a relief. He was fine. My ass was not. WW and Dr Porn both told me I need to be less clumsy. Seriously? It’s not like I chose to chuck myself down the stairs or smash a bottle of gaviscon or drop the Monster on her head.

Then during my appointment I was hooked up to the monitoring machine for the first time. They placed two sensors on my belly and gave me a button to click every time Squirt moved. The nurses were shocked when I recorded Squirts near constant movements for the first 20 mins. I think one didn’t believe me and looked surprised when she put her hand on my belly and felt the dance party for herself. I guess he wore himself out, though as then there was nothing for the next ten minutes. The nurses’ really crap poker faces had WW and I worried for a while but Dr Porn assured us everything was normal, no contractions and my cervix was still locked up tight.

So I am dragging my fat, swollen, aching ass through my last day at work, WW is packing and the Monster will be staying at her doggy hotel this evening and for the next two months. Tomorrow we fly at the very reasonable hour of 11am, but you better believe I’ll be getting there three hours early with my fingers, eyes and toes crossed for that magical upgrade. C’mon BA, be my fairy godmother!


32 weeks…33 weeks..? Whatever, really frigging pregnant!


Has anyone seen where I left my….brain? Seriously. I thought the baby brain was bad before but we are reaching new heights of stupidity this week.

It’s end of term which means exams and grades time. You’d think this wouldn’t be a big deal seeing as the kids I teach are age 3-11, but you’d be wrong.

I had about 5 emails over the weekend from a frantic mum, insisting their kid ‘couldn’t read a word and doesn’t know ANYTHING’. I tried my best to put out the fire and felt extremely validated when the kid got 90% with no help from me.

Another parent emailed me because apparently I can’t count to 25 anymore and I docked her son 5 points for no reason at all. Oops.

With the eldest kids all this stress is behind us, thank Budda. Instead they have been tasked with creating a 5 min presentation on a subject of their choice, which has led to conversations like this:

Kid: ‘Miss Emz, what is a slut magnet?’

Me *splutters*: “A what?’

Kid:’ A slut magnet.’

Me: ‘Where have you heard that?’

Kid: ‘On this website about my game I’m doing for my presentation.’

Me: ‘Which game?’

Kid: ‘GTA’

Me: ‘Grand Theft Auto? Isn’t that game about stealing cars, beating people up and…. *thinks*- prostitutes?’

Kid: ‘Yeah.”

Me: “Uh huh, you can’t do it on that.’

Arguments ensue.


The creepy ‘bleeding from the eyes’ kid informed me that soon the doctor would have to ‘use a really big knife and cut from here *indicates chin level* to here *indicates pubic bone* so he can pull the baby out. It’s gonna hurt real real bad!’

One of her peers suggested, in very broken English, that he could punch me in the stomach and then I could vomit out the baby. I must say, his suggestion appeals more than any other typical method for giving birth.



I ¬†have been getting loads of exercise walking up and down the stairs as I arrive without resources or am forced to retrace my steps to figure out where I’ve left things. I open containers 3 times in a row, when there wasn’t anything in them the first time. I call kids by the wrong name all. the. time. I have a massive brain fart mid-sentence and have no idea what to say next. Fun times. Kids keep asking me to spell stuff. ‘Nuf said.

I think it’s because the blood normally supplying my brain currently prefers pooling around my calves and ankles. Especially around midday. The sexy puffiness is really accentuated by my waddle. WW keeps asking ‘Why are you walking like that?’ Not for shits and giggles, my love.

Otherwise there’s nothing major happening but I do feel a bit uncomfortable in my body, with back ache, occasional abdominal twinges and tightening. ¬†The bath helps. Specifically an hour plus soak in an almost cold bath while watching Extreme Makeover, Weightloss Edition, and calculating that even at the end of their ‘transformation’ the contestants often weigh more than me right now, helps me feel a little less whale-like. WW complaining about her tiny muffin top does not.

Burping, farting, frequent urination and pooping remain constants but the heartburn has slackened slightly. My rings are still on my fingers and my ‘innie’ bellybutton has not become an ‘outy’ yet. No stretch marks and my boobs have remained encased in the same bra without attempting to break free, for a couple of weeks.

We have finally bought a car seat and a play mat for tummy time. WW ordered some extremely campy sailor and suit outfits, and was a bit put out when I giggled excessively. We have been gifted a few gorgeous baby grows and t-shirts. In short I feel like we are almost prepared and the rest will come back with us from the UK. I have to wait until Wednesday to see if I will be given the OK by the doctor, to fly. Fingers crossed.

Similar to this. I cannot bring myself to put one of those hats on my sons head, sorry WW.

The pregnancy app continues to amuse. I have stopped filling in my weight as I am frighteningly outwith the recommended weight gain chart. The fruit size comparisons stress out WW, as the fruit here is often much larger than the ones they are using. It is also throwing up some words WW, as a non-native English speaker, has not come across previously:

Me: ‘It suggests that we do a perineal* massage now that I’m in my third trimester.’

WW: ‘Maybe you can get one at the massage parlor on the main road.’

Me: ‘Um…’




*apparently the wordpress dictionary has never heard of a perineal massage either.