My body failed me the last time we got pregnant. The happiness and joy turned to grief and feeling inadequate, and overnight I lost everything I’d longed for. And irrationally, I felt as if we’d done something because the bleeding started after getting intimate with DH (knowing that wasn’t the case and it just wasn’t meant to be, but desperate to place blame somewhere, anywhere).

My body failed me again when my period never came back, leaving me in limbo. A purgatory so isolating and confusing, that it put strain on my marriage. Finally, to save our relationship, we waved the white flag and gave ourselves the holidays as a break from thinking, obsessing, planning, hoping, and wishing.

But then the signs started adding up. And even though I thought it couldn’t possibly be true I took a test over the weekend. And then I took 10 more tests because I couldn’t believe my eyes. Blazing BFPs on Every. Single. Test.

Now two says later, I’m obsessing. Peeing on tests every morning and night, even though night sweats kept me up all night and I have the very definition of text book morning sickness. I can’t think of anything else other than hoping this little bean is sticky. I’m terrified of messing this up, eating the wrong thing, or taking a too hot shower. I can’t even consider being intimate with my husband for fear it will cause bleeding.

I took a blood test today and will go back for a second on Wednesday before my appointment on Friday morning to make sure things are progressing and my HCG levels are going up. I’m hopeful, but I’m scared. I’m excited, but I’m worried. I want to shout it from the roof tops, but if something happens again, I’d rather suffer in private.

Will the next 9 months be this anxiety-ridden?