I generally try to refrain from posting about anything too personal on this blog, but today is an exception. I feel like sharing a story. 8 years ago, I desperately wanted another baby. We already had been blessed with an amazing little boy and I knew I was supposed to have more, but things weren’t exactly working out. I had just suffered 3 consecutive miscarriages, including, based on an early ultrasound, what was thought to be a set of twins. 4 miscarriages total (my first pregnancy had been a miscarriage as well). My pregnancy track record was rotten, and my spirit broken. It was a dark time in my life. We had an appointment with a renowned recurrent miscarriage specialist at the local university hospital that was still months away. Then I found myself unexpectedly pregnant again, and completely terrified. Right away I started to have problems with bleeding and I thought for sure another miscarriage was imminent. Because I was pregnant, we were able to get into the specialist that week – an appointment that included an ultrasound. When we went to drop off our son at my mother-in-law's house before our appointment, she said, “Call me as soon as you know.” And then I said to her, “We probably won’t feel like talking about it.” To this she said, “I think you will want to shout with joy in the streets.” I was completely consumed with doubt, and she was overflowing with faith. During the ultrasound, a tiny little pulsation – the beating of a microscopic heart was seen immediately. The pregnancy was viable, and my heart full of hope. My mother-in-law was right, I did feel like shouting with joy. I spotted on and off the entire first trimester of the pregnancy, but that next spring, April 8th in fact, we were blessed with a beautiful daughter. Today, that little miracle baby of ours is 7 years old. I still feel like shouting with joy in the streets, just because I am lucky enough to be her mom.