Looking at these pictures it's been a rather depressing decade hasn't it.

Thank god the photo from Hubble shows we're not even a fleck of mud on the universe's shoes.

My "belly growth" seems to be pretty stable. I still fit into all but one of my jeans and when I'm shopping for maternity jeans I look like Su Pollard at a Weight Watchers conference. I can see the 'real' pregnant ladies looking at me going "wannabe". You just wait a few more weeks, ladies! Just wait! My belly will get there.

The one pair of jeans that don't fit anymore (I can zip them up and close the button, but. Can't. Breathe.) are -unfortunately- my favourite pair of jeans, but I'm hoping to put them back on in some nine months or so. Hope springs eternal eh!

Rather more interesting is why and where they don't fit anymore.
My tiny babybump (more like bowel-bump, if I'm honest) starts well over the waistband of those jeans...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, as predicted the Little Penguin appears to have taken up residence in my arse (oh god, it could be the plot of a horrible Mpreg slash fic).
It's prompted the Girlfriend to liberally apply the anti-stretchmark-stuff on that area as well, you never know!

I’ve become public property and I’m not even showing yet!

Or well, I am showing a little.
I’m in the “Has she gained weight or might she be pregnant”-phase, with a leaning towards “naaaah she’s just fat”. It’s the phase that goes “should I start looking out for maternity clothes or do I just put on my slightly wider jumpers over my trousers”. Part of me wants to run for the maternity clothes, but I fear they’ll just hang around me like a giant bin bag. But The Girlfriend/Wife is taking me shopping this weekend and I’m pretty sure she’ll insist on the maternity trousers and stuff. Problem solved.
Let’s hope I don’t fall asleep in the fitting room…..

It’s not all fun and games being pregnant you know!

But, as I was trying to say before I so rudely interrupted myself, I’ve become public property. People are bombarding me with their pregnancy stories (quite enlightening, yet sometimes plain scary and horrifying) and mostly their (sometimes wanted, mostly not so) advice.
A typical day will go like this:
“Please tell me you’re getting the Mexican Flu Shot! Women are dying! Children are born with brain damage! You should be on the way to see your GP right now!”
Ten minutes later I’ll run into someone else and the conversation will go:
“Please tell me you’re not getting the Mexican Flu shot! Women are paralysed after the vaccine! Who says it’s safe for you and the baby? You never know the long-term effects! And what are the odds of you getting the flu when you’ve not got it in ten years time?”

Then there’s the advice on the prenatal classes to take and to avoid, the anti-stretchmark creams to use and to avoid (always totally opposite experiences depending on who you ask), the not-so-subtle questions from my mother to determin where my loyalties lie, and it sometimes –just sometimes- makes me wish the Penguin and I were invisible.

But basically it’s a catch-22. Having never been pregnant before, not having a clue what will happen to me, to my body, I’m desperate for advice and stories. I just wish everyone would tell me the bloody same thing! Can we arrange that, world?

And I *still* don’t know what to do about that damned Mexican flu.

So yes, ladies and gentlemen... I've been lying to you all for a while now. Well, maybe not explicitly lying to everyone, but definitely keeping quiet or hiding the truth.
Yes, let's call it "hiding the truth". It sounds much better doesn't it.
But the time to hide is now behind us!
And I'm pretty sure that in a couple of weeks time (or even now already. Yikes!) there will be no chance to hide anymore.

We're pretty excited actually.
Pretty thrilled and ecstatic.
And pleasantly terrified. *g*

Let me show you this post from my "supersecret Help!I'mtryingtogetpregnant!-blog" from October 12th:




We're calling him our little Penguin, he or she is now 12 weeks old and is due June 20th.

Until then I'm going to become huge, even more irritable than I already am and my hormones will hijack this blog and turn it into a "My ankles are so swollen it's killing me"-journal.
Don't know about you, but I for one can't wait!

The Girlfriend (sorry, that should be The Wife, still getting used to that) has been ill with a flu-ish thing, but is feeling slightly better at the moment. She's been high on codeine cough syrup since Friday, which is quite hilarious.

Today I negotiated between two feuding cats: "No Kiwi, Zena does have a right to sit here" and ever since Kiwi has been sulking in the kitchen. You've got to love cats who've been scolded, don't you?

We got our wedding pictures last week and The Girlfriend (you know who I mean...) will be making a selection tomorrow.

Apart from that I've been tired, tired and tired.
But to cheer us all up, here's a brilliant song (and incidentally our opening dance). I'm sure littlemoose will be thrilled with our choice:


(we loved that film)
(and yes, Marija Serifovic was a very close second choice)

Hello all,

Berlin was fabulous. Photos soon. Probably. I think. If I ever stop being so tired all the time.

In the mean time let's hope Van Rompuy doesn't become president of the EU, if only to stop all the Belgian journalists from going on about it all the time. It's doing my head in.
Also doing my head in is the Brits who now seem to be demanding Tony Blair gets the presidency? Eh? What?? So basically Brussels should explode for all they seem to care, unless Tony gets the job?

I know, not all Brits are like that.
And I do love the Brits. Hey, I spent money to see John Barrowman in a dress a couple of weeks ago, if that's not love then I don't know what is!
But when it comes to Eurovision and EU politics... we have a love-hate relationship.

See, I'm too tired to try and be funny. It must be serious!

EDIT: crap. I spoke too soon. Herman it is then.
Christ.
He must be the most colourless uncharismatic human being alive.
Just don't try and force Yves Bloody Leterme on us as prime minister again.

And we're off to Berlin in the morning.

Our London honeymoon was great. Nice hotel, though a bit too far outside the city center (and away from the embankment...) than we'd hoped. John Barrowman in a dress was cheesy, so yes... pretty much what we thought it would be. Got lost quite a few times (it's only my fourth time in London...) and Bus Service Security thought we were terrorists while we were geocaching. Oops.
Photos will be minimal though since some absolute disgusting arsehole(s) stole our backpack in Brussels South trainstation. It was all too ridiculous for words: one guy distracts me while the other takes off with our stuff, and I'm still reeling from it. I actually ran after him, the bastard. Still, it could have been so much worse. They got our camera, with our photos, some twenty pounds, some paperwork, a nice card from Madscot... but that's pretty much it (ok, a new book, reloadable batteries, an umbrella and Melisssa's favourite cap as well..). But no-one got hurt (sadly not even them) and we're both still here.
Still... that doesn't mean I don't wish them the most horrible diseases on their private parts. Horrible and painful, please.

Needless to say The Girlfriend (I'm sorry, "The Wife") bought herself a new camera for Berlin.

So here's hoping we come back in one piece, WITH lots of photos and WITH our camera still in our new backpack!

See you in a week.

Getting married is a blast, seriously! I'd say we should do it more often, but that kinda defies the purpose.

Some highlights:
- saying "I do" in front of so many friends and relatives. So many more than we expected would make it.
- Smooching the Girlfriend The Wife as wife and wife for the first time
- (and the second time)
- (and the third... yeah, you get the picture)
- Scotsmen coming over
- A faaaaabulous party with friends and colleagues, with minimal embarrassment.
- People who put so much time and effort in their presents (the poor plush snake filled with coins, the geocaches), getting a lovely lovely heartfelt letter from my witness, the surprise some friends had in store for us (Tom Lanoye! Someone pretending to be Neil Tennant and saying insulting things about the Pet Shop Boys!)
- The scrapbook made by our friends
- Our opening dance.... and fighting the tears as we danced it.
- Bursting into tears the day after when we read all the cards and messages we'd got.
Seriously, everyone, thank you so much.

Yay! Getting married is cool!

Some lows:
- running around organising stuff like a headless chicken
- the drunk 40-something cousins with lewd comments

Aaaah who cares. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But only with the same woman though.





And now on to new adventures!

The situations of gays in Iraq.

Very very disturbing content, don't read it if you think you might not be up to it.
I'd urge all those idiots who say "why must you go on about it time and time again, everyone accepts it now, stop flaunting it" to read this.

Let's hope Obama doesn't start bombing nation after nation during his years as president, or the Nobel Prize Committee will be quite embarrassed. "Oops, sorry about that, world".

And still no mention of me, would you believe it?
Tsk.

Have some Rufus

Sickening


Not even Eurovision solved this! How can it be?

1. Reply to this post and I will pick six of your icons.
2. Make a post including this info and talk about the icons I chose.
3. Other people can then comment to you and make their own posts.
4. This will create a never-ending circle of icon glee!

( And she picked )

- the ironing basket getting fuller, with hoodies and jumpers
- Not having the "but it's way too hot to iron"-excuse anymore
- the kiddie-hankies making room for biiiiiiig hankies
- turning the heating on in the car once or twice already during cold morning rides to work
- pretending not to notice it's not completely light yet when you have to get up for work
- refusing to turn on your lights when you drive to work because it's not winter yet, damn it.
- not understanding why you suddenly have to turn on the lights when you want to read in the evening when you didn't have to do that a few weeks ago
- Eurovision seems so far away. Who won again?
- the pressing urge to buy new shoes
- the pressing need to pity oneself because you have a decent winter coat and a crappy summer jeansvest but absolutely nothing for autumn. Apart from that faux-leather-plastic Buffy-coat you've been wearing now and again for eight years....
- you really want a sexy leather vest
- you already broke your umbrella the first time you used it so now you'll have to buy a new one
- you can't decide what to wear because it's either too hot or too cold
- not putting your sandals away yet to have them nearby for those rare warm days (Monday!)
- The Girlfriend taking advantage of a slight (slight!) dip in temperature to proudly put on her thickest winter jumper
- The gigantic scary enormous hairy MONSTERS that pop up on the walls
- (spiders, yes)
- knowing you'll soon be replacing the poofy sneakersocks with regular socks
- the growing need for snuggles. And blankets. And candles.
- Quietly and nerdily looking forward to the new television season (and just in time, because you've finished watching all the seasons of The Closer)
- Consoling yourself with the fact that the days will get longer again soon. At Christmas. Which is relatively soon.

I don't suppose anyone could recommend a romantic hotel in London for our honeymoon?


Anyone?

DJ beaten up for playing the Pet Shop Boys

A fate *our* wedding DJ awaits if he *doesn't* play the Pet Shop Boys.
Obviously.

This is what constitutes a "full report" in this household. Hehe:

Lisbon is a popular destination for The Gays. Less so for The Lesbians, but The Girlfriend and I did our best to uphold the Dyke Presence. We started by asking for a double room (we'd booked one after all), instead of the twin room they'd given us at the hotel. A word of advice, if a lesbian or gay couple can check into a hotel without the receptionist double-checking if they're sure they really really do want a double room, it's not because they've got a great gaydar. It's because they've assumed you were straight and have given you a twin. The Receptionist's English wasn't 100% so I made myself clear by saying "we've got two beds in our room and we only want one!". Ahem.
All was not lost though, because when I brought back the key to the twin room to the reception the other receptionist (female, tiny, curls) winked at me.
Score!

We saw palm trees. Yay!

The Portuguese drink something called SuperBock. I think that's a hilarious name.

The plane didn't crash. Did I mention that before? I think it deserves a second mention: it didn't crash. No crashing at all! None! I credit our female pilot with that. Thank you, Mrs Female Pilot, for keeping us safe.

Lisbon is a beautiful city, but also a very poor city. Especially the part where we were staying (the old lower part of the city). We felt like heathens for preferring the Parque de Naçaos (a modern part of town by the Tagus river) over the "authentic" Lisbon.

The Portuguese do weird things to fish. They rip it up and then smother it in scrambled eggs. I mean... What the hell? All I wanted was a piece of codfish and I got... something eggy and weird instead. Then again they probably think I'm weird for just wanting a piece of codfish.

I was either asked if I wanted to buy pot or if I was selling. The man coming up to me didn't exactly make himself clear. Me, I just held on to my bag and started walking a bit faster.

All in all, a very nice experience.
All the photos have now been uploaded to The Girlfriend's Flickr. She really held back in her posting of the Oceanario. I think she took about 400 of the 800 photos there.

The Girlfriend uploaded day one of Lisbon on her flickr site:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/weetniet/sets/72157621855507697/

(day 2, 3 and 4 to follow after the Girlfriend shifts through her meagre 824 photos)