I didn't squeal, or cry small tears of joy, or hope.

I'm not letting out how to tell my husband, bursting at the seams to spill the beans

I didn't look up my estimated due date, which I usually do before even testing.

I didn't even stare at that little faint pink line in disbelief.

Because I can believe that I can get pregnant, this is the third time in the last six months that I've had a second line stare back at me. What I can't believe, what I can't get my hopes up about, is that this one will last the whole nine months, that I'll be holding a baby at the end.

I'll test again tomorrow, watch the line get darker for a few days.

But for right now I think the hope is too fragile to get excited about.