It's six days after my day five transfer (6dp5dt) of two blastocysts into my womb. I feel tired and emotional. I feel wiped. I don't feel particularly hopeful.
This morning, I caved and took a home pregnancy test (HPT) and it was a big, fat negative (BFN). I know that it was early, and I could get a positive by peeing on a stick (POAS) tomorrow or Tuesday or in my blood test on Wednesday. However, I just feel incredibly defeated. It doesn't help that we're creeping up on the anniversary of my miracle pregnancy and miscarriage. The feelings I'm having are bringing back a whole host of nasty feelings from last year, too.
I'm trying to focus on my head, which says there's still a chance. I'm not being very successful at convincing my hormonal heart, though.
After my BFN, I decided to go back to bed. I had dreams about positive pregnancy tests that felt real. I almost got up and POAS again to see if maybe I had just done it wrong the first time. It was a little devastating.
At church, there were two baptisms and confirmation, both milestones I hope to celebrate someday with my children. The closing song was "This Little Light of Mine". I couldn't choke out the words, lest I burst into tears in the fourth row of a very crowded sanctuary.
I am going to take a nap, get my work down, and pray that tomorrow morning will yield two pink lines.
Wisehubby and I have been TTC for a while and, on a hunch, discovered his severe male factor infertility--basically, he has an army of mutant sperm. I'm a mutant myself; I have a clotting disorder that sounds like something from a sci fi movie: Factor V. We are on the IVF with ICSI track, and we're pretty sure that I gave birth to an X Man after IVF #2. We've tried varicocele repair, too--ugh. We're going to see if Austin Powers (our frozen embryo) will be baby number 2 this summer/fall. This story is mostly for Wisesister, but you can read it if you'd like.