The chemical

It was Christmas Eve, and DH and I were out running errands with the Bean in tow.

"I'd like to stop by the dollar store and grab a home pregnancy test, just so I can be certain I'm not pregnant and stop thinking about it." I shifted in the passenger's seat.

DH whipped his head to face me. "Do you think you might be?" We hadn't been trying exactly, but we hadn't prevented since Bean was born.

"Well, no," I answered slowly. I didn't. Right? "Actually, let's not go. It will just be a waste of money."

"Oh, we're going!" he announced, leaving no room for argument.

And we went.

At home, there didn't seem to be a second line in the result window. Or was there? Upon close inspection, we could see a faint pink line. I rushed to the Internet to google "evap lines on HPTs." Evaporation lines, which are false positives of sort, are always gray.

Not pink.

We were pregnant.

Disbelief. Elation.

The next day, the line was still faint. I was nervous.

"I don't think it's going to stick," I told DH. "The line should be darker."

He was optimistic and thrilled. "Accept it, you're pregnant. Be happy!"

Meanwhile, I was feeling pregnancy symptoms. I had to pee constantly. My milk supply was definitely affected, Bean didn't want to nurse. DH was certain it was a girl, he nicknamed her Sugar Plum. Christmas Eve and all.

But the lines were still faint.

And then, a couple of days later, there were none.

Shock. Devastation.

AF came.

It was over as quickly as it had begun.

A chemical pregnancy is when the egg gets fertilized and the embryo implants, thus triggering the brief span of BFPs. But the baby doesn't grow, and AF comes a few days later, usually extra heavy.

I try to focus on the positives. I got pregnant -- sort of -- on my own. Hooray! We weren't able to do that in almost two years of trying last time. But my body couldn't carry the baby. Which then prompted a memory from summer 2007 when we had our first pregnancy ultrasound with the RE. He saw two embryos on the screen, but only one (Bean of course) was viable. The other had implanted but not grown. "It's very common," he remarked casually. I gulped and nodded, thinking about Bean's almost twin. It wasn't something I dwelled on, but of course I will never forget.

Now after having the chemical pregnancy, I think of it differently. That lost embryo also would have been a chemical, had Bean not gotten cozy in there. So that means my track record includes one live baby, and two early miscarriages.

One step forward, two steps back.

Ain't that infertility for you.