I couldn't believe it! I might be pregnant again. After a horrendous, devastating stillbirth at 38 weeks, I was possibly pregnant again. I took an EPT test two days before my period was due – hopeful, but ready to be disappointed again. I had failed the pregnancy test three times already, why should this month have been any different? But maybe, just maybe it was.

I took a flashlight into the bathroom and put it on "spotlight" and shone it on the stick to make sure that I wasn't imagining what I saw. It was a shadow of a line, but it was in fact a line. A very light one, almost so light that you think you are imagining things. But I'm a trained EPT expert now (they should considering hiring me), and I am sure that I saw something. My heart jumped into my throat and I quickly dialed a friend.

LeeAnn from Colorado, was a friend in tragedy. We'd both experienced stillbirths on the same day. Hers was at 35 weeks, mine was at 38 weeks. We had met in a grief site and had become fast friends. She was now 13 weeks pregnant. She was as excited as I was when I made the call. But I carefully explained to her about the shadow and told her I'd retest tomorrow – if I could wait that long.

Well I did manage to wait, after a night filled with wonderful dreams for the first time in six months. I dreamt of baby carriages and swings and even rejoiced in the idea of dirty diapers. It was finally going to be my turn up at bat again.

I got up early, so early that the only thing open was a 24-hour-a-day supermarket. I looked around to make sure that no one was watching and bought two more EPT tests and threw in a FRE just for luck. I waited in line with all the other interesting people that go to a store before sunrise. They gave me odd looks, and I eyed them too.

Wouldn't you know it but two people behind me was my very, very pregnant friend, Jocelyn. She saw me sneak the tests in line and watched me pay for them without saying a word. After I paid she cornered me at my car and told me to rub her belly for luck. I laughed and did many times. I needed all of the luck that I could get.

Where to go to take the test? I was out already and didn't want to drive all the way home. McDonald's and the golden arches was beckoning me. I snuck the EPT into my pocketbook and snuck past the morning commuters and into the bathroom. I took the test, waited. After five minutes I snuck a peak. Again it looked like it could be a line, but then again, I didn't know what to think. I had two more tests left. I figured I'd give it some time.

I went to work humming "London Bridges" and "Twinkle Twinkle." I had a one track mind. I was convinced that people knew. All those coworkers who had been looking at me with sadness and pity for all these months must have known that something was different about me. I offered to do the 10:30 coffee run. I ran over to Burger King, placed my order and snuck into the bathroom with my FRE test. This time the test showed two darker lines! I think I screamed aloud. Yes! This was what I'd been waiting for. I skipped the coffee and headed right to the orange juice. Time to start feeding vitamins to this baby.

I felt alive again for the first time in awhile. The stillbirth and loss of my son had made me feel dead inside. I functioned like a zombie. Suddenly I could see flowers blooming and hear birds singing again. I smelled the smell of a cake baking at a bakery. I wanted to run, to sing. I wanted to shout about the joy of being alive again.

It was the end of the school year. Anyone who knows children, knows that they are not at their best during May and June. They are done. Summer vacation and swimming pools beckon. The last thing they want to do is math, social studies and writing. For the first time ever in my career, I was as laid back as they were. I kept doodling on my desk during their seatwork time and drawing babies, cribs and coming up with names. They must have thought that I'd lost my mind.

Everything went great until week 6. On week 6, day 2, I had spotting. It only lasted for five minutes, but it was enough to tell me that something just wasn't right. I called the doctor and she had me come in for a sonogram. She put me in the room where I had lost Derek, and I sat shaking in Andy's arms. It turned out to be fine. The sono showed a normal sac and a yolk sac. They didn't see any sign of miscarriage. But my gut was telling me that something wasn't right. I insisted on an HCG and progesterone test.

Lucky I did. My HCG was fine, but my progesterone had dropped from a 15.1 to a 7. A 7 is miscarriage level. I was told that I needed progesterone "like yesterday." My mom raced me over to the hospital pharmacy. They gave me suppositories and a "launcher" to insert them.

The next few weeks my life revolved around my progesterone. No matter where I was at 5:30 p.m. on the nose, I had to make sure that I "launched" my progesterone and hoped that it landed by my cervix. Most times I was very lucky, except for the time at the movies. I accidentally launched the progesterone into the next stall. It projected and hit a poor woman. I heard her scream and tried to control my laughter as I apologized. I think that she was disgusted, and I heard her storm out. I learned from that experience to always have backup progesterone and to "launch" carefully!

Week 8 came upon me very quickly. It was the last day of school, and I waved goodbye to my students for the summer. It was going to be my time now – time to take classes, relax by the pool and take care of my future little one. My mom picked me up for my appointment. They put me back into the sonogram room, back to the place that I hated most – and with good reason. This time I received bad news. The same news that I had heard seven months earlier. "We're sorry Jessica, but there isn't a heartbeat."

I looked at my mom and said "Again?" She had tears in her eyes when she looked back at me. Just like I had seven months before, I broke the news to my husband. Once again I had to make plans to go to the hospital and say goodbye. I was able to get the D and C the next day. It wasn't that bad. What was bad was watching woman after woman be wheeled into the operating room and delivery room to have their babies. I even had to sit and watch a prisoner being escorted by guards be wheeled into the room to give birth. All I kept thinking was why me? The pity party had begun.

It didn't hit me until about two days later that I had lost another baby. I was lower than low at this point. My breasts had filled with milk, and the hormones must have dropped because I have never felt so depressed in my life.

What to do? I had been the inspiration for so many girls. I was even counseling others who had gone through stillbirths and miscarriages. I was starting to smile again. I was not going to allow myself to be depressed. I called a reproductive endocrinologist and made an appointment. If it is hormonal, I'm going to battle those hormones and win. If it's a sperm or an egg issue, Andy and I are both willing to go for donors. We're open to anything. We just want to be parents.

We're also still in the midst of the adoption process, and I've kicked that into full gear. I'm going to be a mom one way or another. This is just a setback, right? So I've dusted off my fertility monitor, sterilized thermy, my basil thermometer, and am ready to rock and roll. I'm going to live by the mottos "Three strikes and you're out" and "Good things come in threes," and hopefully my own personal motto will be "Three times is the charm." I'll let you know if that one's true in nine months.

Want to see more?

• You've Had a Miscarriage: What Now?
• Pregnancy After Miscarriage: The Ups and Downs of Trying Again
• Pregnancy After Loss: Are You Ready to Try Again?
• Talk about it!