Let's start at the very beginning. It really is a good place to start.
I'm Elizabeth. I live in a sticks-tastic suburb of Birmingham, AL and have been in Alabama for the past eight years. Before that, I lived in and around Louisville, KY. I'm a Spanish degree holder, twice over now, and an aspiring high school Spanish teacher. I'm sure there will be posts on that in the future. But this is my intro- so here ya go...
You probably know me by one of my several nicknames: Liz, Lizzie, BooBoo, Buffy, Ginny's Sister, Michael's Wife, Margaret and/or Bob's daughter. But it wasn't until a week (and a few hours) ago that I gained a new nickname: Hayden's Mom.
My wonderful husband, Michael, and I have been married for over five years now and have been trying (well, not actively preventing- so I guess passively trying) to get pregnant for several years now. After a disappointing stint with one of Birmingham's "best" OB/GYN practices at one of the Southeast's "premier" hospitals. I knew for a long time that I would have issues getting pregnant. Thyroid disease runs rampant in my family (thanks, Mom!) and I knew that I had it by my symptoms. I mean, how else could someone whose activity and food intake levels stay the same, watch their weight go up over 100 lbs in less than ten years? My hair was falling out and [gentlemen, avert thine eyes if you're squeamish about Women Troubles] my periods were about as on time as Delta flight out of Atlanta. When I brought all this up to my doctor, they said they'd run tests on my thyroid levels, but I know they were just patting me on the head and appeasing me. The tests came back and said my thyroid levels were just "a little off". They gave me a prescription for the smallest dose of thyroid hormone possible and told me the reason I was having problems getting pregnant was because I was overweight. I tried to get them to understand that I was overweight because there was a problem.
Fast forward to the Summer of 2010. My friend recommended I go see her doctor about my thyroid... Go figure, a specialist?! He runs a battery of tests and- lo and behold- my thyroid was more than "a little off". Armed with some new prescriptions, and a plan to quit drinking and officially go into Baby Making Training, I blithely informed my darling husband that this summer would be the Summer of Baby. He laughed and told me that was why he loved me so much... It had already been an eventful summer: I completed my teaching internship and second Bachelor's program at the University of Montevallo (Magna Cum Laude, thank you very much) and was on a very intensive job search. Not to mention, I'd committed to myself to quit drinking (gasp, yes, I know) until after I had a baby. I was getting serious. After all, I turned 33 this past July 4th and darling Michael hit the big 3-7 just this January. We started keeping track of, um, Things, so we'd know when Something happened if it ever did.
I took a pregnancy test on June 27 (2010), just on a whim. I'd been feeling a little off all week: queasy and sick-ish at night, [guys, look away again] my boobs were sore and getting bigger (and if you know me, that was a scary prospect) and I was just plain exhausted all the time. I was in for the shock of my life... Here I was, a week away from turning 33 years old, and I saw my first positive pregnancy test. Disbelief doesn't even begin to cover my feelings. I did what any rational woman (LOL) would do, I called for my husband from my seat on the throne, "Honey? Could you come here?" He was just waking up, kind of, and said back to me, "Whatever it is, I didn't do it..." To which I calmly replied, "Oh, but I think you did."