You never forget your first. It was five years after our daughter. We had wanted to have the children close together, but we didn’t get pregnant as easily as before. That was unexpected.

We wanted her to have a sibling or two or even three. After all, Tim and I both came from families of four children. At six months, I quit taking birth control pills, but nothing happened. I quit breastfeeding and weened my daughter at 18 months hoping that might jumpstart my hormones, but still my periods were coming every month like clockwork. I downloaded a tracking app and we made sure to get together on the green highlighted week, but still nothing happened. I bought a digital thermometer and started using daily ovulation tests. Still nothing.

We moved and my period was late, but when the dust settled, it came back again. Some months we put everything away and deleted the apps and tried to not think about it. Nature did not fall for the ruse. We ordered miracles off the internet and yet, nothing.

My daughter started asking for a sibling “like the other kids at preschool”. Strangers in line at the store would suggest that we have another. Nothing that hadn’t been heard before, but their words clung to me.

I told myself that we would try until I was forty, then be happy with our one, beautiful child. I had my birthday and cried. We saved up some money and went to a fertility specialist. She tested and poked and prodded. Tim did his part by being tested at the big city university hospital, twice. Just before we made an appointment for very expensive procedure, I got a positive pregnancy test.

I had been testing for years and it was our first double line. Every day for two weeks I tested and the lines grew sharper and darker. I told my mom and my brothers and close friends. I got it confirmed by our doctor and we started telling the women at church. My skin glowed and we went to the beach and enjoyed the gorgeous late summer weather.

One morning I woke up feeling kind of moody. I had an argument on the phone with my oldest brother, and had the fleeting thought that it reminded me of how I felt right before my period started. Tim texted to meet up for lunch and I drove to the A&W near his worksite. He ordered food with our daughter while I popped into the restroom. The toilet water turned red. I put a pad in my underwear, washed my hands and quietly returned to the dining area. I whispered it to Tim. His face went ashen. After lunch, I went to my scheduled yoga class. Nobody knew that while the soft music played, I was loosing my baby.

I called my mom and my brothers and the women at church. I cried on our couch with my best friend from college. An east wind carried the smoke and ash from forest fires into town and I felt as if nature was mourning our loss. The air turned cold and the leaves fell.

In November I was late. It seemed unlikely that I would get pregnant again so quickly, but sure enough a faint, second line appeared on a dollar store pregnancy test. Each day for two weeks I tested. The lines grew stronger, then weaker. I had my period. My sister-in law gave birth. Did I mention she was also pregnant? They named the baby after my late father. We rejoiced in public, but inside I felt numb. Empty.

The second one was hard too. Even though only a few knew, we still felt the loss. We had braced for the possibility, but you cannot talk yourself out of feelings, it’s not how that works. My mother-in-law gave me a Christmas ornament of baby angel wings, but she didn’t know that we had already lost another.

I will give this story a happy ending, because it genuinely has one. In February, as I was driving home I suddenly had a wave of nausea. Trying not to care or think too much, I dug through my bathroom drawers for a rogue test. Sure enough I found one. At thirty seconds there was only one line. I washed my hands and went to the kitchen to start dinner. Tim came home and few minutes later burst out of the bathroom smiling. “Did you leave that for me?” He asked. “Leave what?” “A positive test!” As unlikely as it seems, after six years of infertility, I was pregnant a third time in six months. Every day the lines grew darker and you couldn’t find someone more excited about puking. The doctor assured me of the strong numbers and good signs.

Over the spring and summer we had our scares as I had a couple of bouts of heavy spotting. Being pregnant was pretty tiring and I asked if they were sure it wasn’t twins, but my OB assured me it was because I was also 42 with an active kindergartener at home. On our eighth wedding anniversary, I gave birth to our second daughter. We named her Ivy in part because she stuck around. It is also the ancient Christian symbol for faithfulness.

Our family is happy and full, but sometimes I still remember the other two. I remind myself of the many women who aren’t as lucky to have children. And I know that statistically one in three pregnancies doesn’t make it. None of that makes it less. It’s okay to remember.