Last night, after we got home, Den suggested I go pee on a test. I did. Instead of waiting alone in the bathroom this time I brought it downstairs, turned face-down, and waited five minutes. Den and I sat together as I turned it over. My heart was thudding loudly in my chest as I hoped and hoped I would see that magical second line.

But there was nothing there. We just sat in silence for a few moments, me tilting the test this way and that. Didn’t help. No line.

But there was still a thought of me that thought, maybe I didn’t wait long enough to pee. Maybe, because this was in the evening and not the morning, that it just wasn’t good enough. Maybe tomorrow morning…

So I slept. I woke up a half an hour before our alarm and snuck into the bathroom to test again. This time I was alone again, in the bathroom, staring at it as it developed – but this time my heart did not thud in my chest. I knew the answer already. It too was stark white except for the control line. Not pregnant. I went back to bed.

I was very matter-of-fact about it all day. Over the past week I’ve just had this sinking feeling (which in itself made me hopeful, like my mind and body were setting me up for a big bait-and-switch). This cycle was too much like our first one. The egg quality just wasn’t fantastic. Even though we got three mature eggs and two embryos this cycle, I really just couldn’t believe that they were good enough. Oh there were times when I really thought I was pregnant, sure. I sure as hell hoped so. But there were two reasons I was so calm, and one of them was that I really didn’t think it was going to be positive… and I could wait to see the negative. I hate seeing another negative test. Hate them.

The other reason I was so calm I figured out yesterday, Christmas Eve: I had pretty successfully managed to avoid accepting that it was Christmas and thus time for this cycle to end. Through putting up all the lights, shopping for gifts, baking, wrapping I have maintained a very good attitude. I did not cry about our loss at all (more than usual), I did not sit around picturing Devin and this Christmas. It was like I was functioning, but blissfully unaware in my deep subconcious.

All that changed Christmas Eve when the wrapping was done, we were dressed, and Den was asking me if I was ready to go to his dad’s. It hit me all at once: it really was Christmas. And I did not want it to be Christmas. I wanted to hit the fast forward button, or just put in another tape. Christmas without my son here is pointless and painful. I ended up curled in the bed sobbing in shallow near-hyperventillating breaths. Luckily the anxiety attack didn’t last very long. But no wonder I wasn’t thinking about testing: here I was, desperately hoping Christmas would just skip this year.

I did not cry again throughout it all. Even after the two pregnancy tests, even at family gatherings, even watching my neice open her gifts. I felt… calm. Resigned. I was right in one regard: the family gatherings were no worse than if I hadn’t tested. Today’s internal turmoil was about Devin, which eclipses pretty much any other complaint, big or small. It should not be Christmas without my son. It is not Christmas without my son. Not this year. This year was some sort of half-assed farce. My heart was nowhere close to being in it.

But as the day and evening wore on I felt myself getting more and more frustrated. More angry. Not only is my son not here to celebrate Christmas, but I’m not even pregnant again. Stillbirth and infertility. That angry, angry combination. It just gets me to the point of wanting to throw things. I am TIRED of hearing people getting pregnant. I am TIRED of assholes (friends of friends) having babies when they shouldn’t be. I am TIRED of constantly being the one shit on.

I finally broke down after we got home, after I sat with my laptop and recognized the anger and hurt that was bubbling up inside.

Mostly I’m angry that we have at least another two months to wait to hold our baby in our arms. At this stage pregnancy is sounding more like a chore, a huge wait that I would rather just skip to the end of. I did it, you know? I did all but the last month. I loved it, and I hope to do it – and really enjoy it – again someday… but right now I just want a baby. A real, live baby of our own, in our arms. So this IVF just tacks on another 2 months to the already long wait of pregnancy. That’s what I’m frustrated about. That’s what I’m angry about. I’m tired of waiting.

Last time the first try didn’t work. But the second one did. I can only hope this will continue to follow that pattern. This next cycle will be our heralding of the new year.

Please let 2009 be better. Please.