Beyond the Pink Lines

Let’s talk pregnancy tests, testing early, line eyes, wishing, and hoping.

No matter whether I think we have a good chance of being pregnant because we were intimate a lot or maybe we only did the baby dance once, I find myself testing most months and sometimes more than once.

I do the calculations in my head:

“Okay, I know I ovulate late most months, so I most likely ovulated on this day. The earliest women usually get positive tests, even faint ones, can be around 10 days past ovulation.”

And then suddenly, I find myself in the bathroom at 3 a.m., having already peed into a cup and battling with myself over whether I want to test early.

Thoughts start racing through my head:

“What if it’s too early and I waste a test? Maybe I’ll use a cheap one. But what if that cheap one isn’t sensitive enough, and I need to use a name-brand test to catch the very first glimpse of a second line?”

So, I typically give in and test.

During that three-minute wait, my head is spinning.

After dipping the test into the cup, I put it back in the wrapper and wait for it to develop. I set a timer on my phone, and the “what ifs” start running through my mind.

What if it’s positive?

What if it’s negative?

What if it’s another ectopic pregnancy?

What if it ends in miscarriage?

What if it’s a successful, healthy pregnancy?

Then I find myself peeking after one minute. Then one minute and ten seconds. Then I try to distract myself.

And after what feels like hours, the timer finally goes off.

Butterflies fill my stomach. I feel like I’m going to vomit.

Even when I have a gut feeling that it’s going to be negative, my hopes still rise.

Moment of truth.

Yep.

Big fat negative.

Negative as negative can be.

But then come the “what ifs” again.

What if it was too early?

What if it’s a faulty test?

So then I start taking pictures of the test.

Flash on.

Flash off.

Different angles.

Different lighting.

Even holding a flashlight behind the test to see if I can spot the faintest hint of a line.

Then the line eyes kick in.

“Is that a second line?”

“No way, I see something.”

“No, it’s just line eyes.”

“If you have to search that hard for a second line, it’s not there.”

At that moment, I get sad, but I accept that it’s negative.

I tell myself, “Okay, this isn’t our month. There’s always next month.”

Or, “It’s not over until I start my period.”

I stare at the test for a few more minutes, secretly hoping a second line will magically appear.

Then I go back to bed and snuggle up next to James.

My heart is breaking.

Sometimes tears silently run down my face as another month has passed and we’re still not pregnant.

In those moments, I feel like a failure.

Like my body has failed me.

Like I’ve failed James as a wife.

So I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s such a calming sound. I focus on taking deep breaths, feeling his chest rise and fall, listening, and trying to fall back asleep.

Typically, when I get up for the day, I find myself digging that negative test back out of the trash just to check one more time—to see if, by some chance, a second line magically appeared.

Logically, I know it wouldn’t unless it was an evaporation line.

But I still check.

And then I go through the motions of accepting it.

Being sad.

Feeling disappointed.

Yet still holding onto hope that maybe, one day, it will happen.

Because that’s what trying to conceive often feels like—an endless cycle of hoping, waiting, wondering, and wishing.

And somehow, despite the heartbreak, finding the courage to do it all again next month.

On the subject of evap lines—they are the absolute worst. They may be one of the cruelest things that can happen when you’re trying to conceive.

In my years of infertility and pregnancy loss, I’ve learned that blue-dye tests tend to sneak those evil lines in more often than pink-dye tests. But on the other hand, a certain brand of pink-dye tests is known for indent lines, which can be just as cruel.

You think you’ve spotted a very faint positive.

The part of you that clings to hope with every test gets excited.

Then, after fully investigating it, you realize it’s not a true positive.

The excitement disappears just as quickly as it came.

When I do get a positive pregnancy test, it creates a whole new kind of anxiety.

Thoughts start racing through my mind:

Is this real?

Why is it so faint?

Is it a chemical pregnancy?

Will it get darker?

Should I take a digital test just to confirm?

Most of the time, I end up taking a digital test, and it’s positive too.

Fear, anxiety, joy, and happiness all coexist at the same time.

Over the next few days—especially when it came to Riley—I obsessively tested just to watch the line progression.

Somehow, it brought me a little peace of mind knowing the lines were getting darker. Yet I still found myself analyzing every factor that could affect the darkness of the line.

Did I drink too much water?

What time of day did I test?

Does the brand of test make a difference?

Even after my HCG blood draws confirmed the pregnancy, I still found myself testing “just in case.”

Some people may think testing early, testing obsessively, searching for lines, or pulling a test out of the trash to check “just one more time” sounds insane.

And honestly, to a certain extent, maybe it does.

But when you’ve walked the road of infertility and loss, when you know you have factors like low progesterone that can affect the outcome of a pregnancy, it somehow makes sense.

The waiting feels endless.

The uncertainty is overwhelming.

And every test feels like it could change your life.

So if you find yourself in this season of waiting, hoping, and praying that a second line will appear, know this:

I see you.

I feel for you.

I understand you.

Your feelings are valid.

Your anxiety is valid.

And you’re not alone in this journey.

Sending baby dust, good vibes, and hope to everyone still waiting for their two pink lines. 

I am right there with you.