All the world's a stage... I don't think that's what Shakespeare meant.

The five stages of grief... I've heard of them.

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Depression

4. Bargaining

5. Acceptance

They seem like a really practical way of dealing with grief.

But I'm not grieving. -Step One. Denial. Damn. Okay, I might be grieving a little bit... more so now that the hormones from the ectopic pregnancy are leaving my body.

And why they're taking their sweet-ass time leaving my body and are consequently dragging this pregnancy and grieving process out longer and longer, I don't know.... which INFURIATES me! -Yeah, step 2. Anger.

Here's what I'm mad about right now:

1. Why couldn't this whole thing be done with three weeks ago when it started?

2. Why are the hormones lingering and making me crazy?

3. Why can't I just move on? The egg was the size of a pine nut. Get over yourself, you little nut! (Addressed to myself, not the poor little zygote that apparently couldn't work a compass and didn't know which direction was down, south, the lower floor, the uterus. -Jeez. How hard could it be?-Said, while yelling at my gut).

Am I depressed? Tricky question since people who are depressed don't know it. -Or deny it (step 1). Who knows.

Bargaining. This is me on the treadmill- "Okay, Liz. Run to get strong. The strongest you've ever been, so no baby will choose to vacate your body again. You'll be so strong that you won't let it." Here's me blogging, "Right. So what I'm going to do is eat as much protein and as many vegetables as I can, so that my body is the ideal vessel that no little fetus would DREAM of leaving!"

Yeah, then I think- Get real, Liz. You've been running your whole adult life and haven't met a veg or glass of water you've turned down. -What's the use? (Hmmm... could be step 3. Depression).

I guess this whole process has been harder than I've been willing to admit. But I'm hoping that once the pregnancy is, indeed, over- that I can breeze through the rest of the steps and be on my merry way.

And don't even think about suggesting that kind of thinking is clearly Step 1, because I might be tempted to act on Step 2 and wring your neck.

You Are What You Eat

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm pretty passionate about eating healthfully. And luckily here in Washington we have all kinds of access to affordable, organic food. -I'm thinking of our co-op and the farmer's market (where I took these photos last year).

That said, this last week has seemed to call for two things (okay, three) in order for me to feel better. First, there were an awful lot of sweets and carbs in general. And just about every evening there was a glass or two of wine to dull the pain Aleve just wasn't touching. And the third thing was staying home with my family. We just holed up and didn't leave the house- unless we had to.

Could I live like that forever? No. Did I know it was short term... and that I would get back to normal in a week or so? Yes.

Ding, ding, ding! Time's up.

Bob's in the field for a couple of weeks, and that gives me the perfect space to get back to what I know I should be doing to be my healthiest self. Margot and I launched the "Revival" tonight with chicken Caesar salad... that I grilled and prepared for us. All natural, all organic. -And my toddler loved every bite of it just as much as I did.

I think/know that things happen when they're supposed to and I embrace that. So I don't think anything I did or didn't do caused the miscarriage. But I do want to get my body back to peak health in order to give the next baby... whenever the right time will be... the chance to grow and thrive in a healthy body for the better part of a year.

So it's back to running. -Half marathon scheduled for July in Oregon.

And back to tons of fruits and vegetables. -I love them. No candy on earth can touch a fruit in season.

Finally, it's time for more protein. I've got muscle to build and red blood cells to replace. And grilling isn't too much of a hassle. (But it will be much better when Bob's back. Everything is, actually).

And the wine will stay in the weekends.

When you know better, you eat better. And when you eat better, you feel better.

I'm on my way.

First Rule of Fight Club

"The first rule of Fight Club is- you DON'T talk about Fight Club." Brad Pitt might as well have issued these same instructions to women all over the globe who have had miscarriages.

Here's the thing I've discovered in the last week. Almost everyone I know has joined the club- against her will. The club we won't talk about.

How do I know? Because, new as I am to the club, I said (with lots of tears) the "M" word, and women have hugged me and whispered in my ear. "I know. It happened to me too."

I get it. I do. Who wants to drudge up horrible pain? And certainly you don't want to mention it to a glowing, happily rotund preggo. Nope. No way. No Ma'am. It just isn't done.

Even as I write this, I'm thinking to myself. -Drop it, Liz! You don't want to be the one who can't move on or insists on talking about it. And even as I think this, I remind myself: You know what? My blog. My rules. And it's been less than a week.

And that goes for you too, Brad Pitt. How's this for a rule? I'll talk about "It," the "M Word," "Miscarriages" as little or as much as I want to.

Friends, sisters- and brothers, too!- it's okay! Life happens, and sometimes it doesn't deal you a solid. It doesn't persist in the manner you wish it would. I, for one, am willing to step out of the shadows and let the world see where life knocked me around a little bit.

So if you want to have that conversation, then pull up a chair. I'm not going to cry on your shoulder- or maybe I will, who knows? But I'm willing to listen to your story and to acknowledge every craggy step you've had to climb to get to where you are today.

Let's face it. Sometimes those steps knock us on our ass. -But I've never had one knock me out.

Fight Club, Indeed.