Well, the results are in. The digital early pregnancy test stick thought over Christina’s urine for its prescribed three minutes, and then concluded: “Schwanger 1-2”. Christina is, for the second time, between one and two weeks pregnant.

This isn’t actually a surprise this time. We know that we’re fundamentally fertile; how many people do you know who manage a pregnancy the very first time they try for one? Christina’s been keeping very close track of her symptoms and her body, we made attempts all through her most recent fertile period, everything was done right, and everything has been indicating positive. We’ve planned to test this morning for a week, with increasing amounts of joking and nervous laughter the whole time. We’ve been both expecting this moment, and hoping for this result.

We saw the result and broke out in huge grins, we kissed, we held each other close. There is a tension in our joy, though: it’s impossible to forget that we’ve been here before, only to suffer an early miscarriage days later. That time, we felt simple joy, and excitement. This time, that history shadows our emotions. Sure, only 2% of women miscarry twice in a row, but then it wasn’t a super high chance to miscarry the first time, either. We’re excited and we’re hopeful, but a huge part of our feeling right now is simply that we want this kid to survive.

I learned this past summer that even early miscarriage isn’t as easy as I’d always assumed. It’s painful, not just emotionally, but physically. While apparently there exist women for whom early miscarriages so closely resemble a simple late period that they never even know they were pregnant, Christina’s was much more severe. It took repeated doctor’s visits and months of recovery time before she felt like herself again.

Even now there are occasional reminders. Christina reinstalled a pregnancy-tracking app which she’d uninstalled after the miscarriage, and the first thing it told her on first boot: 21 weeks, halfway there. She got it updated and reset for this one, of course, but it’s painful to think about that time of hope turning into pain.

The solution, as I see it, is to think not of the past but of the future. I’ve done some research: there’s roughly a 31% chance of miscarriage in the next two weeks, which is normal for everyone at this stage of pregnancy. Assuming we make it through there, there’s a 13% chance of miscarriage, only 3% higher than baseline. Christina and I often play XCOM together, a game in which you formulate tactics based on assumptions about probabilities; if we could win a round by succeeding at a 69% shot followed by a 87% shot, I’d feel pretty comfortable and confident in those odds.

It’s different when it’s real life, but I should feel hopeful; the chances are in our favor. Now’s the time to pull all the pregnancy books out from the cabinet where I’d hidden them, and re-learn everything I can about the various stages of pregnancy and what to expect. Now’s the time to be brave, to begin to prepare with excitement and anticipation for a baby to enter our lives.

I just can’t eliminate all the anxiety. I don’t want to think about what another miscarriage would do to Christina emotionally, let alone myself.

I want this pregnancy to succeed.