second_infertilityI pace the kitchen floor, waiting for the kettle to boil, waiting for the dishwasher to finish, and-oh, yeah-waiting for the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter to tell me if I'm finally having a baby or not.

The timer goes off on the stove, beep! beep! beep!, and I take a deep breath. A flood of emotion runs through me as I make my way down the hall.

It's been four years.

Four long years since we decided to try and have another baby without a clue as to how hard it would be this time.

Four disheartening years of negative pregnancy tests that crush my dreams each month.

Four frustrating years of doctor visits, in which I'm told again and again that I'm still young and to just relax, we'll figure this out.

Four stressful years of specialists trying to help me deal with my diagnosis of polycystic ovary syndrome and the giant wrench it has thrown into my reproductive system.

Four heartbreaking years with no baby.

It will be time to pick my son up from school soon. Will he see the sadness in my eyes? He just turned five and has been asking for a sibling. We've told him we want to add to our family, but it's not that easy. "Why not?" he asks, incredulously. "Lots of other kids in my school have brothers and sisters."

That conversation always stings.

We got close a couple of times: a positive pregnancy test, followed by elation, followed, eventually, by a devastating loss. While I tried my best to hide it, my son saw me cry once, holding my stomach, angry at the world and wondering why growing our family couldn't be easier.

Secondary infertility-the inability to conceive a subsequent child after one year of trying -affects 11% of the population. It's just as common as primary infertility, but it's generally less talked about.

Why? I can't speak for everyone. But in my experience, secondary infertility is heavily downplayed by friends, family and physicians alike. For that reason, it becomes a silent heartbreak.

"At least you already have a child," well-meaning people will say. There's often a hint of "So why are you being selfish?" in there, too.

I get it. I do. Not having children at all would be harder, for sure. But that doesn't mean this isn't painful. And wanting to grow your family isn't any more selfish for people dealing with secondary infertility than for the rest of the population, is it? Nor does wanting another child take away from the gratitude and love for the child or children you already have.

"You conceived before, so I don't see why you would have an issue now," doctors will sometimes say. But so much can happen to a body postpartum. Hormone shifts, fibroids, scar tissue, and a host of other potential issues warrant deeper investigation. I have had to push so much harder to get this problem taken seriously by the medical community.

But push we have - through tears, frustration, appointments, painful losses and countless negative tests. It's been four long years in which I've wanted to give up trying so many times, yet can't bring myself to do it.

It seems the dream of new motherhood has its claws in me.

So, here I am, walking to the bathroom to look at a test that has let me down many times before-with a near-inconceivable mix of dread and excitement in my heart.

I round the corner and turn my gaze downwards, readying myself for more disappointment.

What I see causes me to burst into tears.

Nine months from now, I will finally get to meet my daughter.

Image credit: Laura McKinnon