Happy Anniversary to Us!

We leave for vacation on Saturday, so this post will have to suffice until we return. Joel and I celebrate our 1st wedding anniversary on August 9. I can't believe how quickly this year has flown by.

Little do many of you know, however, that our day of meeting anniversary (bet you didn't think those existed) is August 7. That's right, folks. Joel and I met almost 4 years ago today at a stinky bar on the Upper West Side. In honor of our 4 year anniversary, I thought I would share with you a couple of photos from that first night that we met. Okay, we were a little skinnier back then and yes, that is a blow up doll that we are holding (it was part of a scavenger hunt, people).

When Heather sent this photo to me back on August 8, 2004, the caption underneath read Joel and Erica - Norwalk "friends." How right she was!

Happy (almost) anniversary Joel. I love you!

Back to the land of the living

So for the first time in 15 or so weeks, I feel like myself again. 23 pounds of baby weight aside, I am coming out of my haze and turning back into the Erica that you all know and (hopefully) love. We had a great weekend. Joel and I actually went out to dinner alone on Friday night (crazy, I know). This may not seem like a big deal to many of you, but Joel and I haven't eaten dinner out since April 2. The day after I found out I was pregnant. We used to eat out all the time. Sadly, our dinner at Bonda in Westport wasn't that great but the company certainly was.

Saturday night we stopped by my friend Zach Lowe's house. Matt Lutz was there with his sweet wife and sweet, four week old son, Michael. It was nice seeing all of them. Zach's a good friend from high school and at Joel's expense, we spent a couple of hours reminiscing about all the ridiculousness that we got up to back when we were teenagers. We thought back to Cancun. How or why did our parents ever let us go there alone? The prom. I think I still harbor a little anger toward Zach for not going and someday he's going to owe me a dance (just to prove that he actually dances). The first time we ever chatted online. It seemed so momentous back in 1994. Turner, Lowe and I at the Apple IIGs exercising our freedom of speech. We also discussed the fact that we talked on the phone then. For hours. About nothing. Now, kids text, chat on facebook or talk over their wireless audio connection while playing video games. Back then, I remember sitting in my bedroom, phone to my ear, propped up by a pillow. We'd watch movies on the phone. Saturday Night Live. MTV. My dad hated every second of it but I loved it. It was my connection to the outside world (and by outside, I mean everything that occurred just past the gates of Weavers Hill).

We left Zach's and headed over to Charles' annual White Party. He outdid himself as usual. Everyone looked beautiful in their crisp white attire. For the first time, I felt 50% like a superstar and 50% like a freakshow. Jeff's Irish girlfriend blessed my belly (which was pretty cool even though we're Jewish). Many girls complimented me, my outfit, the fact that I was out and having fun. Some girl told me that she saw me from the balcony and had to come down to say hello. The freakshow part came from the guys. At this phase, I can't hide my bump. I also can't hide my sobriety (my dancing totally suffers). I guess these two elements, perhaps plus the ring on my finger, mean there's no point in even talking to me anymore. Alas, this is what the land of the living brings I suppose. Nonetheless, baby Harvill seemed to enjoy the party. He was kicking and bouncing to the music the whole time and with Joel at my side, I had the attention of the two men that really matter.

T-minus 5 days until vacation and I can't wait.

"Is it a Barbie Doll or a Hockey Stick?"

That was the question posed by Joel's boss yesterday. Well folks, we've got a hockey stick! A Bruce Springstein! Yes, there are boy parts in my belly. Joel and I are totally overjoyed.

The ultrasound yesterday started with thirty minutes of measurements. I felt like I was back in biology class. The ultrasound tech showed part by part and named off what we were looking at. Tibia. Humorous (insert joke here). Heart. Kidneys. Both hemispheres of the brain. Finally she turned to Joel and asked if he's like to call his dad. We called George and put him on speakerphone. My parents huddled closer to the screen. The tech turned to us, pointed to the screen a proclaimed, "It's a boy!" We all cheered as if the Red Sox won the World Series. Joel and I high-fived. Most importantly, our son is healthy. 13 oz worth of baby boy who apparently enjoys resting his sweet little head right on my bladder.

I'm currently sitting in Social Media Immersion training, so I feel okay to update this blog now. I'll scan the ultrasound photos when I get back up to my desk and add them to the blog later. All I have to say is, it feels so much more real now. I went to bed last night feeling content. Like a mom.

Suddenly I get the feeling that the next four months will fly by so quickly...

Halfway Point

We're one day out from the big ultrasound. My phone rang a couple of times on the way to work this morning with friends checking in, trying to remember if my appointment was today or tomorrow. My IM was flashing as soon as my computer booted up. Even the nice lady in the checkout line at our company cafeteria was inquiring (which makes me believe that the dress I'm wearing makes me look heavier than normal). The answer is always the same. "Yes, I'm very excited about tomorrow. No, I have no idea what it is. No, I really don't care either way."

My friend/co-worker called me cold the other day. He did it in the nicest way possible. He basically said that regardless of what happens, I pretty much show no emotion. I make it hard for outsiders to know what's going on in my head. I get what he's saying. I'm not one of those girls that cried on my wedding day, or the day the I found out I was pregnant. I don't generally cry at funerals either (although I bawled at David Ladd's grandmother's funeral and I'd never even met her). It takes a lot to get me overly excited, although a good ice cream sundae seems to work. I think perhaps my years in television killed off a little bit of the emotional side of me.

I keep a journal (badly) in which I write a letter to Baby Harvill to update s/he on what's new... where we've traveled... who we've seen...what I'm thinking and feeling. One of my co-workers, Carmen, told me that she did the same when she was pregnant with her son and even now, she updates his journal every year by writing him a letter on his birthday. I liked the idea and since I've always been a journal keeper (thanks Dad for throwing them all away when you moved... but I'm not bitter) I've decided to share with you my entry for today:

Dear Baby Rockstar Harvill,

Well, we've passed the halfway mark. According to my books, you're about 10 inches long and you weigh about 9 ounces. For my own edification, I am forcing myself to believe that you actually weigh 15 pounds, hence my 20 pound weight-gain (yes mom, I'll eat a salad today).

This truly is a learning experience for me. Here are some of the things you have taught me in the last 20 weeks:

1. You do not like sushi, no matter how many different rolls I try.
2. I can actually keep my eyes open while throwing up (although I don't recommend it).
3. I am so hormonal that even re-runs of Beverly Hills 90210 make me cry (don't even get me started on the episode when Donna and David finally get married).
4. It is soothing to rub my belly. I like the constant reminder that you are in there.
5. You have made me a happier and calmer individual and since I found out I was pregnant I have tried harder to find the silver lining in any seemingly dark situation (except when driving... I'm sure you will have road rage just like me and your father).
6. No matter how many people tell me that everything will be fine, I am still totally and completely petrified. When you have children, I will tell you that everything will be fine and I will know that you will be completely petrified regardless.
7. It is okay to lie awake at night wondering if I will be a good mother.

I haven't asked you for much during this pregnancy. Okay, there were a couple of times when I think I begged you to let me keep my dinner down, but you didn't really listen then. This time, its for real. Please let everything be okay at our doctor's appointment tomorrow. I honestly don't care if you have boy parts or girls parts. I only care that you are healthy and growing. Oh, and behave for the ultrasound tech. I want her to think that I've got everything under control in there.

Thanks and we'll see you tomorrow.

All my love,

Mom

Worst. Names. Ever.

So, we're 8 days out from the big ultrasound. This is about the time when I start having irrational fears. What if there's something wrong? I wish that our bellies were made of glass and we could see what was going inside, like watching a fish swimming in circles in its bowl. I know there is nothing that I can do but wait. Tick tock.

To pass the time (and to give myself something to giggle at while at work), please send me your worst baby names. We're not taking requests from the audience here (read: you'll have to deal with the wonderful/awful name that we select for our child... you have named your own or someday will name your own so please keep your opinions hush-hush, mkay?) but I thought it would be fun to share some of the inane baby names that parents have come up with. To kick this off, I'll share two stories, the first from a friend from Bucknell. She was a nanny for the Pelekus family in San Francisco (yes, we can all smell the marijuana smoke from here). The family had two children, a boy and a girl. The kids had regular run of the mill names like Jane and Billy. One day, she had to take the children to register for school and she needed their birth certificates. Red in the face, the mother handed over the certificates. She explained that she and her husband thought it would be funny to give the kids random names on their birth certificates but call them by regular names. On the certificates she read out loud Freakus Pelekus and Big Tits Pelekus.

Second story: It was 1995 and my friend Magnus and I walked into the Blockbuster video store on the Post Road in Greenwich. We selected a movie and brought it up to the counter to check it out. The girl behind the counter was sporting a name tag. It read "Shithead." I told her it was genius! How on earth did she get her boss to agree to let her wear such a name tag at work, I asked. The girl gave me the look of death. "My name is pronounced Sha-theed" she said. Needless to say, I never returned to that Blockbuster and many friends still refer to me as Assface (pronounced As-fasse).

Finally, a friend from work sent me this little gem. I'm hoping its not what Baby Harvill is really thinking in there:

I am not a magic lamp but I like mindless dancing videos

Just a quickie post for today. I would like to state something that SHOULD be obvious. I am not a magic lamp. If you rub my belly, a genie will not pop out and grant you wishes. If you rub my belly while I am waiting on line at the salad bar in our cafeteria, I might chew your arm off.

Seriously, I'm a people person. I hug co-workers. Heck, if you've got a breath mint, I might even give you a kiss. I don't like this "rubbing" thing that's going on though. And, its predominantly women that do it! The other day, I was in a meeting where food was being served. I was putting a sandwich on my plate. Other people were doing the same. A co-worker got up, ran around the table and proceeded to rub my belly while I was selecting my sandwich. She made some high-pitched squeaky noise as she was doing it. Was she expecting some sandwich fairy to fly forth from my tummy, bringing tasty treats for everyone at the table? Was she talking to dolphins? No, she was invading my personal space.

This is more of a vent than anything else. Obviously the readers of this blog are all family and friends and you know I could care less if you rub my belly. You can grab my arse and I wouldn't mind. But do me a favor and tell the co-workers to back off. Whew. Thanks. I feel better already.

On a lighter note, Naya sent me this link to a YouTube video titled "Where the hell is Matt?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY&feature=user

Take a couple of minutes to watch. It's basically a guy dancing in a bunch of different crazy locations around the world. Then read the story from yesterday's New York Times. This guy has an unique story (oh, and he's from Westport, CT).

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/08/arts/television/08dancer.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=matt&st=cse&oref=slogin