Happy Earth Day.

We were going to plant a tree today... but it rained.

We were going to pick up trash outside in the neighborhood... but (see above).

I was going to cook a turkey for dinner... but I forgot.

I was going to post something really interesting today... but I couldn't think of anything.

In lieu of anything interesting, I am throwing in the towel, ordering a pizza, dosing up on Nyquil (Hello, spring cold 2011! I wondered when you would make your appearance.) and settling in for a night of movies, pizza, beer, and relaxation.

I know it's both Earth Day and Good Friday, but I'm pretty sure that both Jesus and Mother Earth want me to eat pizza and drink Pilsner Urquell tonight. I'm sure they'd let me know if they felt otherwise, and I will totally be recycling the pizza box and empty bottles when we're done.

So HAPPY EARTH DAY! :)

Lost.

I lost it.

Those words get applied to so many things... The car keys. Those extra 10 pounds from the holidays. Your composure.

I don't really get how the same phrase can be applied to misplacing something, deliberately ridding of something, or freaking out.

In my case, it was none of those things.

In January of 2010 we started trying to get pregnant again. I know it seems insane. We already have 3 boys - 3 incredibly energetic and demanding boys - but we wanted baby number four to round out our craziness. And it shouldn't have been hard to get what we wanted, right? I mean, every other pregnancy was basically conceived by the time my husband waggled his eyebrows at me over the dinner table. Fertile as the Tennessee valley, that was me.

So imagine my surprise when months later, I still wasn't pregnant.

First came frustration. Anger. Depression. I didn't write about it -- what could I say? We considered.. should we see a fertility specialist? It seemed wrong somehow, made us feel greedy in the extreme with our 3 boys as we compared ourselves to the heartache of friends trying so hard to conceive just their first. We have an embarrassment of riches by comparison... what right did I have to complain?

Trip finished his Business Degree in November. By then, it didn't sting so much, this lack of pregnancy. We're pragmatic sort of people. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said "So, it's not meant to be. We can move on. What do we move on to?"

The time seemed ripe for me to get back into school, myself. After all, I had withdrawn from my nursing program in 2002 when he got laid off just before we discovered my pregnancy with Jack. Trip had more time to pick up the slack, and we could use the extra income if I could finish school and get to work Nursing the sick back to health. And so... I enrolled in the local community college, lined up my student loans, and prepared to venture back into the wilds of part-time school.

I hesitated. A week before I was scheduled to start classes, I realized that I had not had reason to crack open the box of feminine products under my sink for about six weeks. "Hrm!" I thought. However, one negative pregnancy test later, I was reassured that it was just my body reacting to the stress of going back to school.

I started classes. That afternoon, I noticed my boobs were sore. Not just a little sore, either. One more pregnancy test left in the box, so... OMGWTFBBQ?! Two little lines. TWO.

Panic ensues. Rapid mental calculations. More Panic. Then... slow, like a match against kindling, the glow began to spread. It happened. It actually happened! Baby number four. My chest still hurt, but now it was because my heart was swollen up in its cage of bone, threatening to burst through with the joy of it.

I could tell from the first appointment that my OB was concerned. I had stopped tracking dates, so we didn't have any specific idea when conception might have happened. Still, he expected to see a bit more on that first ultrasound. Then, 2 weeks later, the bad news. No heartbeat. There was supposed to be a heartbeat. But maybe it was just too early? Maybe?

Weeks of waiting. Weekly blood draws. The levels were dropping. My birthday was approaching.

4 weeks later, 12 weeks into the pregnancy, and the day before my 32nd birthday, I lost my baby.

I lost it.

I don't understand that application of the phrase, is what I am saying. I didn't misplace it;I knew where it was. I searched high and low for some sign, some tiny clue, that would make it all okay. But it wasn't okay.

I renewed my domain for this little blog because I realized I was ready to start talking again. To start sharing again. Because it's so damn hard to talk to the people in my life. Or rather, the talking is easy... it's the saying anything that matters part that is hard.

I lost my baby. But maybe it's time I found my voice again. Even if there's nobody left listening.

At the end of the day, it's cheaper than therapy, and it's the easiest form of honesty I know.

I hate to come back and start again with something so painful. I wasn't even sure I should share it, because the wound is still so raw, the pain so fresh. I'd rather be funny, or snarky, or any number of things. I'm sure those things will come -- this is me we're talking about. I look for the laugh in most everything that happens in my life, because it's the only way I know to get through it. I am sorrowfully ill-equipped to handle most of the obstacles life throws at me, but as long as I can find a smile in it, a chuckle here or there, I can make it from today to tomorrow. We make do with the tools we have, and this is mine.

For the moment, though, I needed to open a vein and share. My hope is that, once shared, the wound can begin to heal in earnest. I'm ready to feel the sunshine again, and come out from under the storm clouds. I'm sure I'll write about it as it happens. Apparently, that's what I do.