Testing: One, Two, Three...

My hands shook as I put the cap back on the pregnancy test and set it on the counter. I washed my hands, then left the bathroom. I avoided looking in the mirror as I passed, afraid to see the hope in my eyes.

I crawled back into my bed, and stared at the digital alarm clock on the dresser, waiting for the three minutes to pass. As I watched the minutes crawl slowly by, I prayed.

I had been praying a lot over the weekend. My period was supposed to start on Saturday, and hadn't. I'd waited until Monday morning to take the test, figuring I'd get an accurate result by then. But over the whole weekend, I was a bundle of nerves. I prayed almost constantly, asking for strength and optimism if the test came back with a negative result. I didn't want to get my hopes up, my heart had been broken too many times over the year and a half Ben and I had been trying for another baby.

As I waited to see what the test said, I reminded myself over and over that it was okay if I wasn't pregnant. I already have one perfect child. Asking for more would be greedy. There are many people (some of whom I know and love dearly) who can't have any children. Just having one is a blessing of massive proportions.

Even knowing this, however, didn't soften the ache much when multiple tests had come back with negative results over the past months. We'd been trying for our second child for so long, I was literally beginning to miss him. That's weird, I know, but it's true.

Last night, I barely slept. It looked, and felt, so promising. A missed period is supposed to be a pretty sure sign, right? And I felt like the time was finally right. I felt like there might, just maybe, be a tiny person beginning to grow inside of me. But I had been wrong before. And so, I slept little. I woke up every few minutes to check the clock. I had crazy dreams, all revolving around botched pregnancy tests.

Finally, at 6 am, I'd gotten up and taken the test.

Now, I just had to wait.

As the three minutes finally passed, it took all of my courage to get out of bed. I was terrified to look at the pregnancy test, terrified of having my heart broken again. Again, I prayed for faith and strength in the face of a negative test result. At the same time, I hoped as hard as I could for a positive one.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I flipped on the light switch in the bathroom, and mustered my courage. Finally, I looked at the pregnancy test.

It was negative.

Again.

It took a long time for my shaking hands to steady, for my pounding heart to slow down. I didn't cry, and I was very proud of that fact. I told myself, "We'll try again next month." At the same time, part of me screamed, "I don't want to do this anymore! Month after month, I go through the same thing! Watching, waiting, looking for a sign... I'm tired of the heartache!"

But I smothered that tiny voice in my heart. I told myself that, as long as I have faith, God will take care of me. That doesn't mean I'll necessarily have any more children, but He has a plan. If I can believe in Him, and in His plan for me, I will be happy. That's what He wants, you know - for me to be the happiest I can possibly be.

So I didn't let myself cry. I didn't let myself doubt. I couldn't help hurting a little, but I think that's probably okay. I'm not really looking forward to going through the whole thing again the next time I have a late period, but I still believe that it will eventually pay off. And when it does, I will no doubt be that much more grateful, and that much happier about it, than I would have been if getting pregnant hadn't been such a trial.

Then, Ben asked me how I was doing. That one sympathetic question opened the floodgates.

I didn't want to let myself cry, but I couldn't help it.

It's one thing to say you'll be strong and optimistic no matter what. It's an entirely different thing, trying to push the pain aside and actually be strong and optimistic. I think I'm getting better at it, though.

And one thing's for sure - I definitely won't take any of my kids for granted.