Hitting publish

Sometimes after writing, it's hard for me to actually hit "publish".

Let's call it what it is... my blog's identity crises. La Vida Lista has no problem with lists, to do's, and cutesy restaurant reviews. It likes to document happy times, like Dan wearing an apron with The David's junk on display from our Italy trip. It's even okay displaying snarky posts about life's hilarious hassles, like about our creepy neighbor telling us we have bats in our attic. But venting about work? People? A really shitty week? It isn't going there.

There's a half dozen posts that have never seen the light of the interweb. It makes perfect sense. I made a decision early on that I wouldn't vent about my job since people have been fired for a lot less, so you'll never see a rant about a student on here.

I knew that my blog wouldn't be a place where I would air my grievances Festivus-style about someone because I'm paranoid about causing hurt feelings. What if he or she just happened to be one of my seven readers??

And I didn't want to write about things that made me really sad because... well... I'm not sure. There's always someone who has it worse out there so it makes me kind of uncomfortable to whine. And I guess I don't really know most of you and you all don't know me. Maybe I was scared that people might make assumptions of me being sulky or a Debbie Downer or would (gasp) hit unsubscribe. Who wants to read about someone feeling blah? So instead of hitting submit, I wrote them for me, hit save, and moved on.

But I'm thinking now that this is my blog and that it's okay to write about the bad as well as the good. And you all seem so nice. So I've decided to be brave and real and write. No cutesy conclusion that ties everything together and no disclaimers. Okay, maybe one disclaimer: I'm feeling much better now, so no need to worry about me. There. Old habits die hard.

Here it goes. I've felt sad these past few weeks because:

I got pregnant in July. I wasn't by late August.

Of course, the real story is longer. How I peed on the test at 5:00 a.m. and then couldn't stop smiling after that and had to lie through my teeth to Dan to sneak out at 10:00 to go to the mall and buy a Redskins bib. How I gave him the bib and the test and his eyes bugged out because I think he'd been worried after more than a year and a half of trying and then he whooped and bear hugged me and kept repeating, "Oh, hon, I'm so happy!" How I bought two pregnancy books and felt uncharacteristically calm even when I read about side effects and labor. I can do this, I thought. Billions of women have! How I was so excited I even blurted the news to the lady at Jiffy Lube who changed my car's air filter since I figured it was safe she would not pass the story on to family or friends. (For the record, her response was so satisfying, whooping and saying something in regards to, "You go, girl!" Then, she gave me advice on how I shouldn't eat for two that people don't know that but if you eat for two you will look like a mutant of your former self so, girl, don't become a chowhound. Priceless advice from the Jiffy Lube lady.) How Dan and I Googled ways to reveal the news to our family and imagined surprising them Punked style.

It was barely seven weeks, but Dan and I already called that tiny cluster of cells our "Lovey".

Then, I started to miscarry and immediately called and sobbed to my mom, who hadn't even known I was pregnant yet. How I felt stupid for allowing myself to become so ecstatic, rather than my usual "cautiously optimistic". I'm a professional worrier with almost a superstitious tendency of looking out for Murphey's Law to take effect. How did I miss worrying about this? Later, I was shocked to go on the web and read about how absolutely common this very sad event is. Many of you reading have probably been there too, in perhaps even worse situations where you were pregnant for much longer. I'm sorry for anyone who has ever been in this club.

Afterwards, I realized three things. First, I have amazing people in my life, like a sister who will drop everything and drive two hours just to hug me, parents who really got how sad I felt, friends who will e-mail and commiserate over greasy Mexican and say the right things, and Dan who prayed, held, and was there for me every moment. Second, I realized later that I'm glad I let myself feel happy when I first found out. Joy is now, in the moment. It was wonderful giddily waking up each morning and feeling like it was a whole new world already. Even if I had crossed my fingers and "prepared" myself by reading miscarriage stories on the web and tempered my excitement, I still would have been crying to my mom that night. And I'm not sure lowing my expectations would have made it any less sad.

Oh, and third, that we're ready to be parents.

Since I'm being honest here, I'll admit that this isn't the only thing making me feel kind of low this September.

Beyong the usual chaos and stress of school, there have been other things that have been bringing me down. A family member is going through some shit that's been making her sad; it's her business so I won't go into it here, but I feel for her so much.

Like a bad country song, our family dog died last week.

And lastly, I haven't been able to stop thinking about a family who is suffering through the worst loss that anyone can go through. You know who I'm talking about if you happen to read this person's blog too. It's her story to tell, so I won't post anything about it here, but I will say that I can't stop reading her posts and feeling so helpless of what to write. Their loss is unimaginable. I can't help but to tear up when I read about all of the love in this heartbroken family. It certainly puts what's going on in my life in perspective.

As promised, no cutesy conclusion. Okay, hitting "publish" before I change my mind. Sorry for the heavy post. But I know you all will understand.