Last night, I thought I might be pregnant. I hadn’t had my period in a month, and I was 10 days late.

So, on my way home from a meeting I covered, I stopped by the drug store to grab a pregnancy test. I was sure I wasn’t, even though I was off my birth control, but I couldn’t help by think, what if? It would have been so coincidental to find out I was pregnant with No. 2 the day before Joe’s birthday since we had found out we were pregnant with Lucy the day before my birthday. I imagined how we would tell everyone the news. I was making plans in my head as to how to fit another child in our three-bedroom house.

We were excited at the possibility. We definitely weren’t planning on getting pregnant now (I was only off my birth control because I had forgotten to get a refill), and the timing wasn’t great, but we could make it work.

But, three minutes later, we saw the two glaring words “not pregnant” on the digital test. I wasn’t as sad as I had been the two years we tried to get pregnant with Lucy because I know God has a plan for us and that everything happens in His time. That peace comforted me. But, even after finally getting pregnant, knowing I most likely won’t be able to have an “oops” pregnancy is hard. It still stings.