I'd love to say it ends well ...

but I'm pretty sure it doesn't.
I'd like to believe I'm not superstitious. I believe in God and faith doesn't exactly go hand and hand with being superstitious. When I took this test, I thought about the first time and how everything ended up OK. That was when I told The Man in a very unromantic, unceremonious way that I was pregnant. The second time I took this test, I decided I was going to be creative, loving and sweet in my approach. I wrapped up the test in a little box along with scantily yet tastefully photos of his wife. He first saw the photos, then opened the box. I joked after he saw the test that he better remember when his wife's body saw better times because it was going to go through the ringer again. Although I'm glad I was able to tell him in such a fun way, the pregnancy ended much too quickly.
So here I was, a month late when I decided to take a test. Yes, a month. I knew I was being irrational but I wanted to delay knowing as long as possible. I had already been taking prenatal pills and when I suspected I was late, I laid off the alcohol. But I delayed taking the test because I almost didn't want to know. The doctors don't see a person (unless there are complications) until she is at least two months along. I didn't want to be anxious in the interim because nothing can be done until then.
But after a month, I figured I should just do it. So I did:
I was so nervous because the last time I had been down this road, it ended badly. Remembering how the first time versus the second time went, I practically tossed this on the bed next to The Man and nonchalantly said, "So, I guess this settles it" or something to that effect. Just like the first time, he didn't even know I had taken it. He replied, "Really? So you're pregnant?" And I nodded. He leans over, gives me a hug and kiss and says, "I love you" and " ... good luck", with a concerned look. I mean, it's really all one can say.
A week later, I started to bleed. It started as spotting and then it got heavier, like a period. So this past Wednesday, I saw the doctor. Excluding the blood, it was like deja vu.
"Well, you could be really early but I don't see anything yet." No flutter. Not like the first time. Much like the second. But, again, the doctor said I could just be really early. I wasn't going to fall for that false hope again. I was then asked to go to the lab the next day, then possibly the weekend and then see my doctor the following week.
The part that broke my heart, though, the question I was surprised would bring tears to my eyes, was when the doctor asked, "How many pregnancies have you had, including this one?"
"Three."
Three pregnancies. One child. I'm not the greatest at math but it doesn't add up. How could I be pregnant three times and only have one child?
How many more times do I want to put myself through this before I'm done? And, just like last time, they can't tell me that there is no baby until they do more tests. I tried so hard to harden myself before attempting this again. But no amount of mental preparation is enough to overpower the overwhelming defeat I feel that I can't seem to get past being a one-hit wonder.
I feel so blessed to even have one child. But I didn't know it would be impossible to have more. Why?
So here I am, waiting again to hear back on my lab results and while I'm expecting bad news, they still won't give me a definite answer until I see my doctor next week. So I wait and I wait.