Am I almost there yet???



I have escalated procrastination to new, higher altitudes and this blog has been one of the many things to suffer neglect. Also on my abandoned to-do list: washing, cleaning, packing hospital bag, cooking and freezing meals, making a start on the baby book, etc etc.

But I’m still here and still pregnant, with slightly over two weeks until my due date.

We had a little scare last week. I met with the very busy midwife for the first time. We were there for almost an hour trying to bring my previous care into line with the NHS’ requirements. She was very friendly, if somewhat unorganised. I had my second belly examination and quickly saw a cultural difference. Thai people, in general tend to be very gentle in every way. I rarely hear a harsh tone, the pat-downs at the airport are soft to the point of ineffective and the gentle prodding I received at the hospital left me ill prepared for the NHS.

‘Is that your pelvis or still trousers?’

‘Actually, I think that’s my spine!!’

After poor Squirt was manhandled the Midwife announced herself unhappy with my measurements, my belly fibbing that I was only 32 weeks along when , in fact I was 36. She booked me into the hospital for a check with the doctor four days later. She also stressed WW out by announcing his heartbeat was too fast for him to be a boy and maybe we were in for a surprise.

So last Friday was WW’s first eye opening experience of a British hospital. We arrived early and were sent away as they were ‘running a little behind’. When we returned I was immediately plopped into a curtained off area and hooked up to the monitoring machine. The lack of privacy was a little shocking after Thai private hospitals. We listened in silent horror as the woman in the curtain opposite had a little break down as she received bad news about the development of her twins. WW’s eyes almost popped out of her head as we listened to another woman grunt and moan her way through a few contractions (‘She’s not going to give birth in here, is she?!’).

After 45 minutes a harassed nurse reappeared, looked at the readings on the monitor, muttered ‘Damn it!’ and disappeared again without further elaboration. Queue my anxiety levels taking a drastic hike upwards.

After another half an hour or so I was unhooked and then a further 20 mins later I was ejected from the curtained area to the waiting area outside. Another 45 mins later and the frazzled doctor appeared, had a quick chat, abused Squirt and advised an ultrasound. We were told we couldn’t do the ultrasound for another 2 hours. We waited, ate passable food from the cafeteria and then had the ultrasound. Again the differences were quite shocking. I had no idea how far ahead the fancy Thai hospitals were. Without the technician pointing things out on the tiny screen I wouldn’t have been able to tell what anything was, despite that being my 6 or 7th (8/9th?) ultrasound.

Anyway, after about 7 minutes of looking the tech told us she was happy, everything was normal and he was measuring a couple of days fatter than average, so no worries about size, or fluid. She couldn’t give us a definitive weight because the head was buried deep in my pelvis and not going anywhere.

Apparently the head being low, me being tall and my strong stomach muscles (who knew?!) can all contribute to me seeming small, but it was nothing to worry about. Phew.

So after another quick check back with the doctor we were dismissed. 5 hours after our original appointment time. Wow. Wait times or not it was still very reassuring to be in a hospital where I understood everything that was going on and I am happy to be back in the NHS system. Plus we didn’t have to settle a bill on the way out.

So now we’re just waiting. I’ve been feeling a little PMSy the last few days, very light cramps, a little back ache and a difficult to shake grumpiness. I’m really impatient to meet Squirt and get this next bit out of the way. I’m also starting to feel a little stir crazy. Since the first week the weather has been a bit crap so we haven’t been out much. Plus I’ve caught a cold so we haven’t even been strolling around the hills near us. It’s also driving me mad not being able to plan anything because we don’t know when the wee one will be putting in an appearance. Why can’t I use some tracking website to forecast his arrival??


My days pass with a lot of reading and soaking in the tub. I think I’ve read 8 books so far. I’ve also watched countless hours of ‘Come dine with me’ , ‘Deliver me’ and ‘Bringing home baby.’ And I’ve been eating. Mmmm, cake.

I have to battle with two variations of British-ness this coming weekend. My parents and brother are going down south for sibling’s graduation, leaving me 1 week from my due date and without a driver if Squirt decides to put in an appearance. So I have to either face the prospect of making a fuss and calling an ambulance should I go into labour or I could overcome a shyness by introducing myself to the admittedly friendly neighbours, explaining the situation and asking if they’d mind being my emergency lift. I think I’ll just keep my fingers crossed that I avoid sod’s law and make it through the weekend without any developments.

If anyone has a crystal ball/spirit guide/magic wand and would like to tell me when the grand finale will be it would be much appreciated!




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 🙂

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.

DSC_0095 DSC_0085

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.


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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‘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.

In the boudoir of a pregnant lesbian.

Before you get too excited (or horrified) this isn’t one of those posts, so go and try another google search.*

First of all can I share one of my deepest pet hates. My toes curl, my ears close of their own accord and my eyes roll back into their sockets when anyone starts a sentence with ‘I had a dream…’ (unless they are Martin Luther King). Unless you story is hilarious and less than three sentences of dream description I don’t want to hear about it. Maybe even then, actually.  The messed up workings of your unconscious mind are boring to everyone but you.

So, to add a little hypocrisy to my usual BS, here’s some stories about my dreams :-).

But seriously though, since I started using those nasty vagina bullets, and beyond I have been averaging about 2 nightmares a night. At least. It is a possibility that my 231 nightly bathroom interruptions  just mean that I am remembering the dreams, whereas before I’d stay asleep and forget them. Whatever, enough already!

Baby based nightmares I could understand but I am not limited to these horrors. I’ve had everything from death (me/WW/pets/the whole world- thanks ‘The Walking Dead’), to falling, getting trapped, out of control classes, bombs- you name it. Granted, it doesn’t help that a lot of the things we watch on TV are pretty messed up but even if I have a day/evening of warm fuzziness it doesn’t seem to matter.

I can’t even wake up and snuggle with WW for comfort are we are separated by a mountain of pillows. We have a king size bed. I occupy about 25% of the space (and growing). My pregnancy pillow occupies a further 35%. My additional 2 fluffy pillows another 15%. The duvet that is too warm for us to sleep under most nights (even with the aircon going at the lowest temp…what can I say? I like to be chilly when I sleep. Even in 40 degree weather) takes up another 15 %. Which leaves poor WW perched on the last 10%, a million miles from me and all my fluffy comfort. Poor WW. Now move over, you’re squishing my between-the-knees pillow!

In other news…

I finally went to the hair dresser yesterday as I am back to work after 3 weeks off on Monday. It was time to lose the mullet. I figured there was less chance of confusion and communication problems if I went with a picture so I spend several hours searching for the perfect ‘do’.

When we arrived WW did not specify the usual hairdresser but said ‘Anyone will do.’ I then spent the whole time in there trying to avoid eye contact with the creator of the mullet. Awkward. Very awkward. I showed some young, cute lad my pic. WW verbally confirmed. We got some reassuring nods and ‘Krub, krub’s.

I asked for this:

photo credit: here.

I received this:




We are still waiting for news of WW’s visa and time is ticking on. I just realized that I am back to school a week and a half before I am granted another 5 days off and all in all there is only 8 weeks total until we fly to the UK. I only have 93 days to go (approx) until Squirt stops kicking me from the inside and starts kicking me from the outside. Deep breaths.

I expressed panic when telling WW these numbers last night and my body concurred by letting go the longest, loudest fart ever. Those are a new development. I hope I return to the sneaky, silent ones before school starts on Monday or I could have some embarrassing moments ahead of me.

I have recently rediscovered the joy addictive frustration of ebay. Specifically ‘baby bundles’, which are cheap collections of clothes in one size/age group. I am finding some real bargains. But my favorite bit is when someone swoops in with 7 secs to go and tries to outbids me..but loses. Mwahhaha (evil laugh). Seriously though, who does that? …….OK, me. But in my defense I had been trying to locate an affordable Ergo baby carrier for days. And I got up at 3am my time just to see the end of the auction. Suckers.

So we are now the proud owners of : a crib, a small bed for beside our bed (definitely not fancy enough to be described as a Moses basket), a cheap and basic baby bouncy chair,  a pack and play with a changing table,17 assorted items for newborns, 20 assorted items for 3-6 months, a manual breast pump and a baby carrier. I feel wholly unprepared. All of the big things are here in Thailand and will not be making the trip to the UK with us. If anyone reading this in the UK would like to offer us a loan of newborn necessities for the 3-4 weeks we’ll be there I would be deeply grateful. Top priorities are somewhere to sleep and a car seat.

We are going to hold off on the buggy for now and see how we get on with the carrier as Bangkok is not a stroller friendly environment and rarely offers walkable pavements, let alone roll-able pavements. I know we’ll need to buy nappies and wipes and baby bath stuff and gentle washing machine liquid. But what else? Help me please all the mummies out there! But bear in mind we are on a tight (tight tight) budget, WW is…ehem….frugal and I hate clutter, so we are talking about necessities. Sound machines, for example, are not within our buying reaches.

Pregnancy Symptoms:

Well, my weight gain continues to slow but my bump is getting bigger. I bought a speedo one-piece 3 weeks ago to combat the thin-belt-around-enormous-saggy-breasts bikini issue. I can’t get it over my belly already. Damn.

I though I was past the ‘is she pregnant or fat?’ stage but maybe not as a Thai bathroom attendant told me I was really fat in Thai the other day. Thanks. She didn’t bat an eye when I stroppily told her I wasn’t fat, I was 6 months pregnant (in Thai- check me!). She just continued to stare. So I went and ate a big bowl of ice cream to cheer myself up.

Squirts kicks are getting less cute and more ouchy by the day. Those ‘beautiful legs’ are certainly getting a work out in there.

My indecisiveness continues. I leave the house and need to pee desperately 30 seconds down the road. WW offers me food, I decline and then become ravenously hungry 3 minutes later.

And here’s another boob moan. I’m sure most of you know a girl whose body you admire/are jealous of. This jealousy become especially bad when you are watching your own body stretch and swell. Try living with that person during that time. This photo is a case in point:


What? Did a pre-tween move in with us and I neglected to tell you? Nope. That is my wife’s teeny tiny bra, next to my scaffolding. Yes, ma’am.  Hers is the body shape I compare myself to daily. My areolae are not covered by that pathetic excuse for a bra. I think my training bras were more substantial. That gigantic bra is too small for me and I can’t buy a bigger one because the rest of the country is wearing WW’s size. Excuse me while I plunge into a pit of deep depression and boob ache.

Heartburn. Ooof. Every evening I worry I might drown in my own angry stomach acid.

Spots on my chin but dry, flaky fish scales below my lip. Go figure.

Cravings? Cake. Biscuits. Cake. Kellogs Honey Nut Cornflakes. More cake. Also, somewhat surprisingly, salad. Although I think it’s mostly because the ‘I did good’ feeling salad gives me combats the guilt later when I stuff an enormous wedge of cake down my gullet later.

Anyhoo, it’s almost time for the ‘last day of holidays’ treat. What fun activities can a pregnant lady do in Bangkok in the hot season? Eat, of course. We’ve booked ourselves into a fancy hotel for a fancy buffet lunch. Yum yum.





*I googled ‘pregnant lesbian Bangkok’ yesterday to see if people would be able to locate my ramblings, should they so desire. They can, but they’d have to scan through 3 pages of XXX por.n to find me. And really, how often to people make it past the first page of google search results? Who knew that pregnant lesbians were such a turn on for the por.n hungry masses?

Toxic gas which isn’t coming out of my rear, for a change.

Howdy doody!


You find me now 23 weeks and 3 days along. Time is slipping by quite quickly and is sure to go by even faster as I am on holiday for the next three weeks.

A lot has been happening non-baby-wise. Firstly a couple of weeks ago an illegal garbage dump caught fire and began spewing toxic smog into our environment. The dump itself is quite far from us but when the wind changed on Monday morning our school was quickly filled with a smoky, burning plastic odor.  I didn’t think much of it at first as, unfortunately it isn’t that unusual to have our air tainted by various illegal fires, but by Wednesday the fire was still going strong and our school had to close. I was told it wasn’t safe for me to be at home or work and I should look for someplace out of the smog line for the time being.


To say I wasn’t best pleased was an understatement. I was angry at the school for not having me leave sooner. I was furious with myself for not being my own advocate and getting the heck out of dodge when it started happening. I was also pissed that WW and I would be spending on meager savings on a hotel in the same city as we already paid for a house. Mostly I was worried for the baby.

A long story short we were in a friend’s apartment,then hotels for 4 days before we were told the fire had been put out and we could come home. I made the most of being located in the city by indulging in western foods and especially cake. Naughty, I know. I tried for balance with a cereal breakfast, salad lunch and naughty dinner. Plus cake.

While we’re on the food topic my diet seems to have normalized somewhat. I haven’t felt nauseous with hunger for a long while, nor have I been having two (or three)  breakfasts or 3am snacks. Happily my weight gain seems to have stabilized also. I think I have gained half a kilo or less in the last month, which puts me a little closer to the recommended weight gain for my stage.  But that’s going by my used and abused bathroom scales which may or may not be telling the truth.

I think I seem smaller also. Today the 6 year olds asked me ‘Where is your baby?’ and a collegue asked if my trousers were too tight and was there room for the baby. I guess today was one of my more flattering outfits. Let me tell you when I’m farting away, smearing stinky cocoa butter into my skin and doing my sea lion impression trying to get out of bed to go pee every evening, it is quite obvious where the baby is.


As I might have mentioned once or twice, I have been having some gassy episodes. These often occur late at night and Squirt celebrates the rumpus and cheers on the bubbling and gurgling with somersaults, fish out water routines and using my bladder as a trampoline. So when I was awoken with stomach cramps and the urge to fart in the middle of the night a few days ago, I thought Squirt was just partying with the gas again. A second later I realized I was wrong and just made it to the toilet in time. A night of vomiting and diarrhea ensued.

OK, a little confession here. Although WW had had an upset stomach a few days previous which may have been the cause of my night of poo waterfalls, I suspect it was more likely caused by my consumption of half a kilo of kab moo. Kab moo, for those of you who don’t know, is a wonderful treat of salted, deep fried pigs skin. Similar to English ‘pork scratchings’ but much yummier and without the little patches of pig stubble. I know there isn’t really anything which should be eaten in such quantities, and especially not fried, salty animal skin, but, having been sooo good at not eating anything salty for quite some time my self control got away from me and I paid the price.  The grossest thing is I am still craving it and have to work really hard every time WW sits munching not to pinch a piece. Her parents came visiting from the North and brought us two kilos. Torturous salty goodness. Don’t judge me. OK, go ahead, I deserve it.

We have had progression in the ‘Great Thai Birth Escape’. We have finally gathered almost all the evidence for WW’s visa, have completed the very lengthy and confusing application form and have booked the interview. Hopefully we should know if it has been granted in the next 3 weeks. If they say no they are going to feel the wrath of a very angry pregnant lady.

Symptom-wise I don’t really have anything new to report. I feel Squirt’s kicks and the movements all the time now. I think sometimes he is responding to the music I have on in the car in the morning. I can’t bring myself to listen to Beethoven and turn him into a genius. I’m hoping that a fetal soundtrack of  ‘Of Monsters and Men’ and the ‘White Stripes’ will make him at least dislike pop as much as his mother.

My fingers have started to swell during the day. My once loose rings are leaving marks during the morning and then falling of my hands when I shower in the evening. That might have something to do with the fact that it is now over 30 degrees C here and soupy as hell. Yuck. The worst thing about this season is right after comes months of torrential rain, air you can almost swim in, floods, traffic jams and nightmares trying to go anywhere. Oh how I dream of traditional seasons.

Um..anything else? I don’t think so. It’s my 6 month scan on Tuesday with our friendly Dr P. and then we’re off to K.L. (I’m not trying to be trendy, I have mushy pregnancy brain and can’t deal with spelling the full name) for a 3 day va-ca shortly after. WW managed to find a very good deal and booked us into one of the most expensive hotels we’ve stayed at for a fraction of the proper price. I am a little nervous about the whole ‘if it sounds too good to be true…’ aspect but fingers crossed it will be nice and if not, it’s only 2 nights. I’m going to miss my person sized pregnancy pillow though. Will the hotel think I’m greedy if I ask for 3 extra pillows? Do I really care what they think?

Back soon with scan updates. Now I’m off to eat some pig skin. Only joking….well, maybe.





Bleeding from the eyes, knitting and, of course, farting.

Howdy doody!

Here’s a wee post full of random, unconnected thoughts because that’s how my brain is working right now.

Firstly I accidentally outed myself to some of the students at school. As you may remember I changed my name and while explaining to the students that they had to call me something different I found myself in a quagmire of questions. Including: ‘You got married and didn’t tell us??!! (*hurt face)’ and ‘But who are you married to??! ‘- which I felt could have been rephrased as ‘But who would marry you??!’. In my explanations I used the term ‘partner’ without thinking much of it as these kids are all ESL but they picked up on it right away. After much gossiping and conferring a couple of giggly girls approached me and asked what my husband’s name was.

I had always promised myself that I wouldn’t broadcast it but I wouldn’t lie if asked directly so I explained that I had a wife, not a husband. The girls (4th grade) were a little giggly but there was no obvious negative reaction. So then I went home and waited, somewhat anxiously, for angry emails from concerned parents. You have to bear in mind I am working in a country which offers no protection for LGBT people, at a private school where parents have an extreme amount of power and could feasibly gang up against me and get me fired.

Thankfully I received no emails and only a little negative feedback. After talking with her parents at home, one of the kids returned and asked me if WW and I were just friends. I told her we were married but we were friends too. She said, ‘Hmm, I think you’re just good friends.’ and I gave up. Another boy told his mother (a colleague) that ‘it just isn’t natural’ which my colleague insists came from the other kids parents. But whatever. Hopefully I can be a role model to any potentially gay kids in the class and avoid any parental backlash. That’s enough for now.

While we’re talking about school I had a lot of fun telling the little kids that I teach. That I’m pregnant, that is. I didn’t share with them that I am a lover of ladies. Or one lady, rather. Ahem, anyway…

It started with a ‘Miss Emz, why is your tummy sooooooo big?’ To which I replied ‘Because there is a baby in there’, not ‘Because I have eaten 3 times my body weight in cheese in the last 5 months.’

They were pretty excited and had lots of questions including the inevitable:

Kid A: ‘But how does the baby get out of your tummy?’

Me: ‘Er…good question! I think you should ask your mummy how you got out of her tummy.’

Kid B: ‘It comes out of the PENIS!’

Me: ‘Um, I don’t think so because only men have a penis and women have babies.’

Kid B: ‘Yeah but you know, like this,’ *makes a large circle in his groin using two hands.

Me (slightly desperately): ‘OK, anymore questions?’

Kid C: ‘When I came out of my mummy I peed all over the nurse!’ *accompanying hand gestures. Hilarity ensues.

I also had another awkward conversation with the mini queen of awkward conversations. Past statements have included: ‘My mother says Indian people are snakes.’ and ‘When I grow up I’m going to marry a doctor so I can be rich.’ I think think this latest dialogue takes the biscuit though…

‘Miss Emz you should be really careful when you have your little boy. My mum showed me this thing on the internet where bad people take babies away and hurt them and kill them and it happened lots of times already and one mother cried so much she cried blood out of her eyes. Tell your son to hold you hand.’

This kid is 5 years old.

Symptom spotting.

It seems I now have zero control of my gas. I am not even given any warning anymore. Every time I get up and move around little bubbles of foulness are silently escaping from my rectum. My hyper sensitive nose doesn’t appreciate it. I’m sure my colleagues feel the same. Also I never knew before that little kids can have such bad breath. But they can. Trust me.

The bleeding eyes thing from earlier really affected me. Can you tell?

I’m am having some mixed reviews about my belly size. A couple of office staff made my day and told me I was small. Then my boss laughed when she saw I was reading ‘The Incredible Shrinking Teacher’ with a class and commented that I was the incredible expanding teacher. A kid asked me why my baby was so tiny and then another colleague said I had really ‘popped’ in the last two weeks. I’m taking it well. I think I prefer the obvious baby bump silhouette in my clothes to the fat rolls of yesteryear. Naked is a different story. Plus even my straight female friends seem to be having a hard time lifting their gaze from my boobs.

On the topic of boobs and bumps, they are getting in the way of my knitting project. Every two minutes I have to ask WW to help me find my hook as it has vanished under my boobs/ass/bump. My boobs obscured the view of the rest of my body long ago. Wow, I said ‘boobs’ a lot in this paragraph.

We’ve been getting crafty, WW and I. Not only am I half way through a blanket for the baby’s room and a cute cross stitch picture but we also spend last weekend turning ugly spherical paper light covers into cute hot airballoons to decorate Squirt’s room with. They turned out well and only cost about 5 GBP for 3. Check out my pintrest-ing bad self!

I have tried much harder, food-wise this week although I have been afraid to step on the scales for fear in will send me spiralling into a pizza-brownie-twix-eating depression. I am feeling less hungry after lunch time which is good although there have been a couple of 2am breakfasts recently.

The best thing has got to be Squirt’s belly parties. I will be hiking up my blood pressure with a misbehaving 5th grader and suddenly he busts out a couple of moves and takes my mind off it, cheering me right up. His biggest dancing sessions are around 7.30pm when I just settling into bed with my knitting (side note- the kids were shocked when I told them I was 28. 28 but going on 65 apparently). Then WW and I are treated to half an hour or so of rolly-pollys and ninja kicks. Lots of fun.

I am procrastinating at work again and should probably get back to it so catch you all later!


PS. My typing and spelling has gone to hell. I’m pretty sure there are loads of typos and probably a few made-up words in here. Also I seem to have forgotten how to use punctuation appropriately. Sincerest apologies.