What inhibitions?

I've just updated my pregnancy blog with weekly photos that I took of my bump although I must admit it became too much after a bit. This blogging thing seems to invade my small world and I feel like I'm showing myself to the world without inhibitions which sounds scary sometimes. I'm a bit reluctant about this but here I am, trying hard, convincing myself that I'm doing this because when all my journals are all but gone, Zak can still access his mother's thoughts through the internet.

To my family and friends in the Philippines, I'm afraid you can only view my bump. Horrible as it is, if I put my face on the site I'm sure this whole weblog would crash. Let's be honest. It's true. The look of my bump is better than my face.

I wonder how K has coped all these years...

Ah, well, of course the sex has always been good.

Transported

Sometimes, when you wake up early in the morning and everything around you is nothing but frost, you think, why am I here? Where's my bed? Who brought me here?

And then you see your husband happily clicking away with his Sigma-whatever that you realise, agh, is this what photography all about?

Annoying

When I call friends and family for festive greetings only to realise that they change their phone numbers as often as they change knickers;

To wrap christmas presents only to find out that there's only masking tape available;

To find out that the boxes set aside for christmas presents have been thrown away in the bin by no other than my irritating spouse who thinks all the men in the neighbourhood are dangling themselves in their windows just because I'm romping around the house in semi-nakedness because the bloody heating is full-on;

To find out that there's loads of maternity clothes on sale after I have spent all the money buying some other unnecessary items: think of time wasted! grrrr.

Also: Can't I even call somebody overseas without being pleaded for pinaskohan? I bloody well give one without waiting to be asked if only I could just push them through my phone or if only I had all the time in the world to shop for everybody or the money to send to every bank in the philippines. I've also got family here you know, and a child to spoil, and another one coming in a few weeks, and a husband who warns that I can't buy him boxers from Tesco because they're no good.

Updates

► K edited the film that the students he trained made. He was informed this morning that the film is nominated for 'best in comedy' and the awarding would be in Leceister Square. Huh! Absolutely fantastic!

► Zak is due to have his 3rd year assessment with the doctor. Time flies very quick indeed.

► We will be celebrating Christmas at K's parents'home and New Year at our house.

► I might start my maternity leave first week of February.

► K will be moving his 'home office' to his parents' spare room to protect his equipment from Zak's ruthless curiousity. Until now we're still speculating on the amount of paper used in photocopying his tiny hands or how many of K's possible film/photographic commissions have been turned down/cancelled because Zak would rather illustrate to the callers the bear necessities of life or how Baloo the Bear and Bageera the Panther came to love Mowgli instead of telling them that daddy is actually waiting for their call and is already hyperventilating because he couldn't extract the phone from Zak's grip.

► I am typing this while working on K's online tax assessment, hence I'll stop for now as I've been staring at the monitor for over 3 hours and I can't think anymore.

Only in the Philippines

Philippine politics is as ever fascinating, not only because of how politicians conduct their political affairs but how they conduct their 'very public' personal affairs. Sometimes though, it becomes disgusting.

Just two examples that occured recently:

1. The wedding of a congressman in Bukidnon. (Full news story here)

Tribal wedding. 25,000 guests. Four-hour ritual. Fireworks after.
I'm just wondering... were the guests fed after? If so, how and how much did it probably cost? I know it's none of my business. They could be from an immensely rich family, BUT, he's a public servant isn't he? Were he a footballer earning £60,000 Pounds a week, then no question needs to be ever raised. I mean, European royalty don't even do such extravagance, do they? What sort of a public servant flaunts his riches to his poor constituents? I'm only wondering...

2. Pasig City Hall patterned after the White House.(Full news story here)

All details of the White House design is copied, apparently. Cost of renovation: 480 million Pesos. I don't know about you but praise be, praise be! Please stop me from laughing! This is soooo entertaining!

Lost in translation

I was at a Craft Fair last weekend. The dreary day and my burgeoning bump contributed to my endless trips to the loo. There were only five cubicles and as usual with female (council) toilets, two didn't work, so there was a long queue that tailed towards the burger stand and the french patessiere (or however you spell it).

Anyway, I was third in the queue, following a rather cute elderly lady who was also behind a young(ish) french lady who was shouting at her mobile. Now bear in mind that we were inside the toilet and her voice echoed rather embarassingly. Como fkdhlshdhskjd sldjf va? fledodj;lksd va? dhfshdfh va? The elderly lady turned to me with a knowing smile, like she knew what I was thinking. French. I don't understand what the hell she's talking about. That sort of line of thought. Then something flashed in my head. A-ha! So I fished my phone from my coat pocket and pretended to dial. With exaggerated flair, I started speaking, perhaps as loud as the french lady who just finished talking and was patiently waiting for her turn to go inside a vacant cubicle.

Nay, grabe, jari ako sa kasilyas, nag linya, amo lagi, kadugay, inday jaoy nalibang sa suyod!

I can still remember the expression of the elderly lady. I thought she was thinking, what the f*, here's another one. bloody immigrants!