My husband and I got pregnant pretty much right away.

That positive sign on the pregnancy test changed our lives forever. We were simultaneously ecstatic and terrified.

Then, a little over a week later, our worlds came crashing down on us. I was just over 6 weeks along.

I started cramping, then bleeding, and called my husband from work, hysterical.

We got into the OB-GYN’s office as soon as possible, but they couldn’t detect more than the top of an amniotic sac on the ultrasound. No heartbeat, no sign of life.

A couple days later, I woke up in the morning with excruciating pain in my abdomen and was bleeding everywhere. I was dizzy and nauseous from the pain. It felt like worse than childbirth.

My husband rushed me to the ER, and I was put on a small morphine drip that helped take the pain away, but the bleeding continued for days, and our little positive sign was lost.

I took off work the rest of the week just to cry and mourn my loss. I felt hollow, cheated by the God I worshiped, and angry at all the happy, expecting couples I knew.

I had to go into the doctor’s to get a blood test a few days later to confirm my hormone levels and saw something peculiar on the paperwork.

My blood type was listed as B positive, but I had been O positive my entire life. I brought this discrepancy to the office staff and asked them to verify. They confirmed that, indeed, I was B positive.

As cheesy as this sounds, I took this news as a beacon of hope, as a message from God to “be positive” about my horrible situation.

It took months to get over my first miscarriage. My husband and I started trying again about 3 months after our loss, but didn’t have any luck for a few more months after that.

The positive sign showed up again. This time, there was no excitement, just terror. We didn’t want to jinx it, so we didn’t even talk about or acknowledge the pregnancy.

I lost the baby, again, around 6.5 weeks.

This time, I was prepared. My nerves were steeled, my emotions were removed, and I started taking pain medication the second I felt cramping.

I was disappointed, but on some level, I expected it to happen.

My sadness was not as intense with the second miscarriage as it was with the first. It wasn’t an outward expression of grief, but more of a lingering sadness I carried with me.

I was questioning myself and my body. Was I able to have a successful pregnancy? Was there something wrong with me?

I went to the doctor to make sure my hormone levels had dropped back to normal, and there it was again. B positive.

I was determined to “be positive” and continue living my life. I carried the losses with me, and still do to this day, but life can be lived even when the heart is missing a piece. In this case, two small, very precious little pieces.

My husband and I decided not to try again for a while. But as we rang in the New Year, I felt that small tug in my gut. I was pregnant.

The pregnancy test confirmed it. I braced myself for weeks 6 and 7. Then, week 8 came and went. We had a healthy little gummy bear with a strong heartbeat.

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I was happy, but still not fully convinced this would pan out. Little did I know I would never be settled my entire pregnancy. Not until I could hold my baby girl in my arms.

And I did.

Our sweet little rainbow, Molly, was everything we could have wished for. Even my labor and delivery went as well as could be expected. Read Molly's birth story here.

Do I still think about those two babies that could have been? Of course.

The loss will always linger, but I take comfort in those positive pregnancy tests, because even for a brief time, I had that life within me. And it was beautiful.

Those who experience infant loss, as I have, understand the pain, both physical and emotional. We know the loneliness and the burden we bear to grieve in silence.

But in those dark times, and any dark days to come, I take comfort in the strength within me, In my bones, in my blood, because I will always be positive.