Hello. It's me.

I've gotten very little done lately, both on the business and pleasure sides of life. Lyric is very much like her big brother was in his first 11 months - high needs. Some of the words and phrases that doctors use to describe a high needs baby are: intense, draining, feeds frequently, demanding, can't put baby down, super sensitive. The list continues on, but these are what describe my Lyric most closely. On the bright side, my high needs baby Avery is a sweet, calm, lovely little boy Avery - and has been since he outgrew that first year of fussiness. So, there's hope for Lyric yet. :) Anyway, having a high needs 4 month old does not make getting things done real easy - especially when she is currently battling an ear infection and teething, to boot. 

There are lots of laundry piles (albeit, clean - the washing is easy, but putting Baby down long enough to accomplish folding...). I do manage to keep a clean kitchen 99% of the time (I couldn't handle it otherwise). The bed gets made usually around 6pm at night. And the little business venture I've become a part of recently (more about that later)... Needless to say, it's been a bit difficult to set aside time for that.  And those aren't even counting any kind of pleasure activities. I've been wanting to blog for weeks - I think about it, and I think some more, and my brain just sits there in fizzle mode. There are thoughts in there, swirling about, but grabbing ahold and organizing them into something worth actually reading is a whole 'nother problem.

I have started to feel the 'there's more to me than mommy' bug lately, as most stay at home moms feel at some point in time. In fact, I know I've blogged about it a time or two in my nearly 7 years of blogging. I've found myself back at this stay at home mom thing for the 3rd time in 6 years. This time, though, feels much different, despite many similar feelings.  The first time around, it was the first time around - I struggled with loneliness with a soldier husband frequently gone and few friends in a foreign country, but I was high on life as a young newlywed.  The second time around, I struggled with postpartum depression, the terrible twos, a high needs infant, and spousal infidelity with a still-often-gone soldier. This time, I am a newlywed again, still deep in the honeymoon phase with my husband (and not entirely sure that will end). He is here every night and weekend, and despite our four kids between us, I feel I manage time and sanity pretty well when you consider the high needs 4 month old and the older, but still needy 3, 4, and 6 year olds. Sometimes though, my sanity hits the road and I feel my days are chopped in half, wondering where my emotional stability and my time have wandered off to. 

The only solution for this is finding something for myself. I get a little of this nightly once the kids are in bed, and my husband and I get to focus on each other. But these times come when we are, more often than not, on the brink of exhaustion. Still though, I am grateful that we always allow ourselves time together daily, no matter how brief. 

Anyway, despite how fortunate I am for these times with my husband, I know that time for Hilary must still be found and  taken, no matter how difficult. After Avery was born, I buried myself in fitness - I ran miles upon miles on the days when my husband wasn't off playing Army in another state, or working the graveyard shift as a cop. And on those frequent days when he was doing one of those two things, I had Turbo Fire. My soulmate workout. I lost 85 pounds after my second child was born. I fell in love with sweating my ass off. I found strength in myself I'd never had and had unbelievable body image. I was strong. I lost sight of all that when I separated from my husband and I packed on the pounds that became harder and harder to shed. 

But I have recently given birth to my third child, and have been reminded of the passion and desire I have to be the best version of myself that I can be. I deserve it. My husband deserves it. My kids deserve it. This time, I am only 35 pounds from where I was back then. I am 50 lbs closer than I was last time, and I am ready. I have more modifications to make this time because of the knee I obliterated a couple of years ago, but what's life without a challenge? I am happier, more motivated, I am better when I am fit.  I have become a fitness coach with Beachbody. I swear by their products and I live them. It is only natural that I want to share my love of them. In fact, the 176 pound plateau that I have been absolutely unable to surpass since late September was broken this week because I started drinking Shakeology again. Plateau broken and an additional 2 pounds gone.  I am doing it for many reasons - I love the company, I love the company's CEO, and if I can turn someone else onto the products I love by being a product of the product, I will always consider that a win. Here's to being a mom, being a newlywed, being Hilary, and here's to pursuing my dreams every single day from this point forward.

www.teambeachbody.com/mbcclady

A cry.

In the months since having my third child, I feel like I say -  and do - everything wrong. I don't think I had this quality before, but now it seems to be the one that shines the brightest from my personality, and I don't know why. I lose patience when I shouldn't. Sometimes, I expertly maintain my patience, but then I feel  I've done that wrong too.  I get anxiety over not getting it all done. Anxiety creeps in when I feel like I need help, so I don't ask. Then I take offense when someone offers it, like they're offering their help because they know I certainly can't manage to do it on my own. I know that this is illogical. Anxiety does not.

I was a stay at home mom for years. I feel like I forgot how to be that this time around. I can't keep the baby happy and keep my daily life intact simultaneously. Preparing dinner sounds like an unimaginable feat most days. I am grateful for my husband's help in this matter, but I am guilty. I cannot do this all on my own, but I used to be able to. I used to do this every single day with a husband that was frequently gone. Now I have a husband that helps daily and is home for dinner nightly (after all, we might not eat otherwise). Still, everything is harder. I don't know why. I accomplish things that seem like a big deal (laundry! sweeping! both of those things in the same day!), but at the end of the day, I realize these are not big things. These are things everyone else does daily too, without feeling like they've accomplished the impossible.

I am emotional. I need reassurance more than I should. I need hugs from my family or my many pieces of anxiety will crumble me. I am always on the defense. I can't let my guard down. This is not me, but touch helps this. Being a mom is really hard. During the day, when it's just Lyric and me here, there's a lot of crying that goes on. And it's not always the baby.

Lyric Olivia Space ~ 7.8.15

I've been attempting to sort through all that has contributed to Lyric's birth story, but it seems that there has been so much that led up to her arrival that I've not been sure where to start.  It all started when we got into the car wreck at 32 weeks pregnant. At that point, we had overnight fetal monitoring until preterm labor stopped and I was given steroid shots to help mature Lyric's lungs in the event of preterm birth. Since then, it's just been a blur of ongoing contractions and fruitless visits to labor & delivery. Luckily, I managed to make it to full term - 37 weeks - before I bid a temporary farewell to my coworkers. It was at this point that Spencer and I decided to really put our efforts into getting this baby out.

Every tincture, tea, and cocktail that gave some hope of inducing labor, we tried. Of course, they were all in vain, and probably just led to more letdown for us, but after weeks of prodromal labor, all we had was hope that something would get the labor fires burning. We walked and yoga ball bounced, and still, Lyric's estimated due date came and went.

At 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant, a Tuesday, we had a check up with our midwife. Here, we were told I was 2cm dilated, 40-50% effaced, and baby was at -3 station. My midwife swept my membranes as a last ditch effort to stir up some kind of active labor. Otherwise, Spencer and I had elected to proceed with an induction at 41 weeks due to a variety of personal reasons. Much to my dismay, I think I had fewer contractions that day than I'd had for weeks, and I began to mentally prepare for the induction I dreaded.

That night, I had trouble sleeping between stomach issues and general discomfort. By the next morning, a Wednesday, I was starting to realize I was having mild contractions, and by the time Spencer left for work at 8am, they were coming about 11 minutes apart. I knew they'd eventually fade out like always, so I sent him on his way to work. The kids and I planned to hang out until it was time to meet up with their dad later in the afternoon. Around 9, when Spencer texted to check up on me, I reported that the contractions were painful, but erratic - sometimes coming 11 minutes apart, sometimes 9 or 14 minutes apart. I decided to take a short walk with the kids around the neighborhood, which intensified the contractions, but only while walking.

By noon, they were coming about 6 minutes apart and reasonably painful. An hour later, they were nearing 5 minutes apart, and 30 minutes after that, I had the...  (gag) bloody show. At 2, I took the kids to their dad's house, and had a few contractions along the way, but made it home without a hitch. Oddly enough, I was still having contractions every 5-6 minutes, but only every other one was painful. At this point, I felt like I was over analyzing everything, and decided to lay down with a cold glass of water to try to relax and see if there were any changes at all.

At 4:05, I texted Spencer to ask him to come home "soon-ish" and by 4:10, I sent the word to come home now.  I had been very gun shy about calling the midwife if things weren't real because of the many attempts to L&D that turned out to be false labor.  On the other hand, I was afraid to wait too long since I was positive for Group B Strep, which required 4 hours, ideally, of intravenous penicillin prior to the baby's birth. Weighing these two things, I felt confident that it was time, so I called my midwife to let her know I was ready to come in. She instructed us to come to the office before so that she could check my progress without the hassle of labor & delivery. Spencer made it home and quickly washed the day's sweat off before we headed on our way to Greenville Midwifery Care.

Through all of the 5 o'clock traffic, we finally made it to the office about 6pm. Barb, the midwife, determined I was 3 cm dilated, 50-60% effaced, with a "bulging" amniotic sac, and that baby had dropped to a -1 station. I felt generally disheartened to hear that I had made so little progress despite the day of contractions. Barb, on the other hand, must have realized this could be the real deal, as she instructed us to go for a walk, grab some dinner, and stay close to the hospital.

We decided a walk downtown and dinner at our old spot, Carolina Ale House, was what we needed. This was where Spencer and I first met, so it seemed fitting to have our last meal there before we welcomed a child of our own. A restaurant to book end the 'just me-and-Spencer' chapter of our story.  As it turned out, I was having to really breathe through my contractions, so Spencer did all of the ordering for us. Once we finished eating and I couldn't take sitting still anymore, we headed out for a walk around downtown. We walked until I was having to stop through contractions at only 2 minutes apart, and when I sat down in the van, they reduced to 4 minutes apart, but no less painful. Spencer put another call into Barb to let her know I was ready to come in, and she informed us that she'd already let labor & delivery know that we'd be coming in.

We were told to go straight to labor & delivery, so we did just that, bypassing both the registration office and triage. We stopped periodically along the way as I breathed through contractions, but when we finally made it to l&d, we were informed that we'd have to go back to registration before being admitted. My contractions were coming hard and fast at this point, so I was pretty disappointed, but we made our way back only to find that there was a very calm, very not-in-labor woman ahead of us, waiting to be admitted for what I can only assume was an induction. We began to feel irritated and frustrated as we watched the women in the registration office work at what can only be described as a snail's pace. Finally, we were called into the office and Spencer scribbled some signatures as I continued to just try to make it through contractions. We were told at this point that all of the labor and delivery rooms were full, so we were placed into a recovery room to wait until a labor room was freed up. Luckily this didn't take long, as I was growing ever more impatient, wanting to find a room to settle down and focus on contractions.

When we finally entered our labor & delivery room, my eyes landed on the most glorious thing I'd seen all day - a large, beautiful, inviting birthing tub, slowly being filled with warm water, and my body ached for it. First though, I had to have penicillin administered for Group B Strep, and they needed 20 minutes of fetal monitoring before they could allow me into the water. It was nearly 8:15pm by now, and I feel like I should mention one detail that I never want to forget about this labor. The entire time I was in labor, I had Andy Grammer's "Honey, I'm Good" stuck in my head. As a result, I have very positive feelings when I hear that song. At this point, I felt a small rush of fluid, so the nurse, Rachael, checked me to find that my waters were mostly still intact and that I was 6cm dilated. The contractions were unbearable at this point, far worse than I recalled them being with my previous med-free labor. I rocked and swayed in Spencer's arms for awhile, happy to have him, happy that he was there. But finally, the contractions got the best of me, and I asked - no - begged the nurse for relief, happily willing to throw away my birth plan just to ease the pain. Finally, I was given two options - morphine or to enter the birthing tub. Without a second thought, I jumped at the opportunity to get in the water. My IV was capped off and water protected, and I donned a sports bra, ready for buoyancy and relief.

The warmth rushed over my legs and my abdomen, and it was exactly what I needed to keep going. The near 100°  water soothed me, and Spencer's touch got me through each contraction. I have no idea at what rate time was passing. I just know that labor was escalating quickly, and before too long, the warm water was not enough for relief as the contractions were coming too fast and too furious for me to appropriately handle. Once again, I felt myself begging Rachael for more relief than the tub could offer. The midwife, Barb, had just finished up another delivery and came in at this point. I wanted an epidural - I was confident - but Barb's affirmations of what my body was doing soothed me enough to keep at it, to keep doing what I was doing.  The baby was monitored periodically with a special underwater fetal monitor, and she fared the contractions well, even if I didn't feel like I was.

As the contractions grew stronger and stronger, and I began to enter transition - the toughest part of labor - I started to move around more in the tub, trying to find the ideal position for comfort. I moaned through the ever-increasing pain, and Barb kept telling me "not much longer now". I remember looking at the clock sometime shortly after 10pm, and silently praying that this baby girl would be born before midnight. Barb coached me to lift one leg up to allow the baby to move further down into the birth canal once I started to feel pressure, so I did. I sat on a small stoop in the birthing tub and assumed a "spread-eagle" position. It wasn't going to be long now.

Almost immediately in this position, I had to push. Barb helped me hold back one leg and Spencer held the other, and all I could do was scream, no - wail, as I pushed with every muscle fiber in my body. I started to lift myself out of the water as I pushed, my only way of coping with the pain I was experiencing. Barb ordered me to sit down, fearing, I can only assume, that I would push the baby out above the water. Somehow, I relaxed enough to get my lower body fully submerged again. Through the push, I saw a cloud burst under the water from between my legs - the amniotic sac that held my baby bursting. Immediately after, Barb told me "I see a head, Hilary, you're almost there!" and I just kept on pushing, never letting up, as, in one long push, I birthed the shoulders and the sweet little body.

At 10:53pm on July 8, 2015, Lyric Olivia was pulled from beneath the water, and came to rest on my breast, her lifeline from 9 long months still pulsating between us. A beautiful, perfect, sweet baby girl. Mine & Spencer's baby girl. 7 pounds and 11 ounces, 20 inches tall. We stared in wonder, the closest feeling to heaven on Earth that we will ever experience. Within a few minutes, the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, the clamps were placed, and Spencer made the cut to separate baby from placenta.

I handed Lyric to her daddy and he placed her, bareskin to bareskin, on his chest. Barb and Rachael helped me from the tub, and I made my way to the hospital bed for the final phase of delivery.  Spencer handed Lyric back to me and she latched on, doing her part to help me deliver the placenta. This took only a few minutes, and then that was that - I was no longer pregnant, no longer impatiently waiting for our moment. My sweet baby girl was here in my arms, nursing away like a true champion.

All told, I was in the hospital for only 2.5 hours before Lyric's arrival. Because the penicillin wasn't able to work the full 4 hours before her birth, they had to monitor her temperature for 48 hours, but it never spiked, never swayed from absolutely normal. Trust me when I say that just because a labor is short, it certainly doesn't make it easier. Imagine 30 hours worth of painful labor, and then imagine compressing that amount of pain into just a few hours. This labor was by far the most intense and most painful of the three children I have birthed, but each reward has been so great. I never planned for a water birth, only intending to labor for awhile in the tub, but once the water hit my body, I was quite sure I was going nowhere before this baby greeted the world.

Lyric's birth was incredibly empowering. Because I wasn't facing complications, my midwife never felt the need to recheck and recheck my cervix. She never had to coach me not to push or to wait just a little bit longer. Once her initial exam at 6cm dilated, I never had to endure the discomfort that comes with practitioners that want to keep an eye on your progress every centimeter of the way. Instead, she knew to trust my body. She empowered me to trust my own body. It knew what to do, so I knew what to do. We allowed my body did what it was made to do, and what an unbelievable feeling that truly is. 

There isn't an easy way to describe how fortunate I feel to have had Spencer by my side every step of the way. He grew increasingly patient as I grew increasingly impatient.  I have no idea the things that must have been racing through his mind while I was in labor, but he was there when I needed him, he was exactly as I needed him.

This all started out so scary, a pregnancy test taken on a whim, a baby that was never expected. But as it turned out, it became the perfect story - the next chapter in our lives, and dare I say, the most exciting one yet. The fastest ride. 

Crooked Days Left Behind

After the crazy month of May that our family endured, I am excited that June has arrived. The due date for Lyric Olivia is one month from today, and I am both excited and nervous, as I'm sure any parent-to-be is at 36 weeks. We were fortunate to get into a replacement vehicle last week, which has been an absolute relief and weight off since the wreck. One weekend with three preschoolers buckled side by side by side in a compact sedan was enough to have me racing toward the dealership in search of a solution. Luckily, we found something very similar to what we had to begin with, and thanks to some connections I had from my car sales days, we got a wonderful deal on it. And that actually brings me to what inspired this blog post.

While at the dealership, I ran into a lot of my old coworkers who all seemed both happy to see me, and pleasantly surprised to see that I was purchasing a minivan with my new husband for our soon-to-be size 6 family. One friend we ran into, and ended up handling the bulk of our purchase, was someone I became particularly close to while I was delving into the world of car sales. This person was something of a mentor and confidant. In catching up with this person, they stated, "I'm so happy for you, I can tell you're in a much better place". I relish in these words because I know how true they are. I know how far I've come and how much I've grown. "Back then, I worried a lot about you", this person said to me. "I was that much of a mess, huh?", I jokingly retorted. But the response to that intended rhetorical question was affirmation that, yes, indeed, I was a hot mess at the time. I don't know that anyone should be judged for the long term based on who they were during such a tumultuous time in their lives, and I'm grateful more that I made it through so much with only the memories as a lasting reminder.

I gained and lost a lot of friends, but my family was always there for me, even when they understandably could have chosen not to be. But losing the friends I did typically ended up being the best thing that could have happened at the time. But because of all of the friends that came and went, I was weary of walking into a place that was witness to how haphazardly I was living back then. As it turned out, though, seeing people from my past filled me with pride and confidence. I am proud of who I have become, of how much I have grown up. I am confident in who I am, of the life that I am living. And I am happy to have this blog to always remind me of where I have come from. I have realized, above all else, that I have actually nothing to be ashamed of. I can't change the places I've been or the experiences I indulged in. It has taken a lot of growing up to not be embarrassed anymore by the road of partying and late nights that I ventured down. In retrospect, I had the same experiences that just about everyone has. It was just that mine were out of order from the norm, which left me with this terrible sense of disappointment in myself. But really nothing has gone the way I ever expected in my life. From my early marriage,  motherhood, and divorce, to my futile attempts to join the military, to where I am now. It has been quite an adventure.  In the back of my head, I do wonder, "what's next?", but I am actively trying to let go and just be.  Because in all reality, there's no way of having any idea what the following chapters will entail.

The luckiest.

I am deep in the honeymoon phase of being a newlywed.  I feel like I hit this stage when Spencer and I went on our first date, and I am still riding the same wave.  I feel so lucky.  In a hundred lifetimes, and in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I would find him and I would choose him.  Every. Single. Time. 

In all of the chaos of the last couple of weeks, from getting married (!!!) to our beach vacation, to our car accident and subsequent overnight hospitalization, he has been my rock.  When I have wanted to cry, he has picked me up and calmed me down, and when I have needed to cry, he has assured me that that's okay too. He has been the calm through the storm.  I'm not sure how he maintains his cool, but he manages to even when I feel like I am breaking apart.

I admire that he is a hard worker, providing for our family without fail.  He is successful in his job, and in all that he pursues.  How lucky am I that he is mine? He is an involved and loving father to three kids already.  I tear up when I think about him holding our daughter for the first time.  Our daughter.  Mine and his.  I have butterflies thinking about the fact that we have created life together that we will love and teach and watch grow together.

When we are laying in bed together, sometimes when he's already asleep and sometimes when he's just starting to fade out, I look at him and can't help but think, "how did I get so lucky?".  I don't know what I have done in life to be granted this type of happiness, but I am forever grateful.  I am not a religious person, and have only delved into religion a few times in my life, always for brief periods.  It has never stuck, but my husband?  He makes me feel like there must be more.  I have had this growing feeling inside of me that we were placed in each other's lives by something much greater than ourselves.  I don't know what that means or where the feeling comes from, but I know that it must be true.  He makes me want to explore that feeling more.

Sometimes, I wish that he could see himself through my eyes.  I think that, only then, he could realize how truly special he is.  I am completely overwhelmed by how he makes me feel.  I have met my match.

Vices.

I am nearly 31 weeks pregnant, and I miss my vices. Yes, I have been harboring a human inside of my uterus for more than 6 months, and now that we are in the home stretch, I am really missing all of the wonderful things that I've given up to ensure a healthy a child.

I miss beer. I miss Fireball shots shared amongst friends. I miss eyes-locked "cheers". I miss the fuzzy feeling. But mostly, I miss cranberry Red Bulls mixed with Naked Turtle silver rum. My favorite.

I realize this might make me sound like an alcoholic. Some people can't give up the Diet Coke. There are the self-proclaimed "chocoholics". I can't live without my favorite indulgences either. Except I can. Because I am. For the greater good, of course. But, boy, I can't wait to be able to indulge a little after Lyric is born.

I miss laid back porch-sitting, throwing-back-a-few nights with Spencer while we played endless games of dart challenges. I think we learned the most about each other on those nights in the beginning. I'd never felt so at home with someone I so barely knew. Maybe that's why I miss those vices. They are a reminder to how hard and fast I fell for this man. They are tied to our very first memories of icebreakers and belly laughs. Of sultry glances and the first time I felt that "weak-in-the-knees" emotion deep inside, when I knew I was never letting this one go. They helped to create the memories that we had no idea would become the roots of something much greater.

Life has moved quickly for us, but I've lived every bit of it to the extent of never wanting to forget a moment. It has been the fastest ride of our lives, but I don't regret an ounce of it.  I am so grateful for that.

Four kids and the love of my life.

I've often thought how whirlwind the last few years have been, and I find myself thinking that with every year that passes.  I've come to the conclusion that the past few years being a whirlwind is no coincidence.  Life, in general, is apparently extremely whirlwind, and it'll be that way forever, or at least for the foreseeable future. 

I've basically skipped having three kids altogether, and am essentially going straight from two to four.  In the past, I've had one child, and then two of my own, and then my boyfriend and thus, his son, entered the picture.  And then my boyfriend proposed, and I found myself trying to grasp having a stepson one day.  But, it was mostly always my kids plus his son.  Since getting pregnant with my third though, and my fiance's second, I've somehow gone from trying to grasp having a stepson to actually feeling like he's one of my own.  One of our own.  In class earlier this week, I caught myself telling someone I was "about to have my fourth" when someone asked if I was expecting my first baby.  Fox isn't just my fiance's son anymore, he's one of ours.  I love him like I love my own.  I have a hard time understanding him sometimes, something I've just attributed to the fact that he's not my flesh and blood, but in all reality, I have just as hard a time understanding my daughter most days, and she's straight from the womb. Somehow, he and I - well, we've found ourselves parents to four kids.

I am in awe of Spencer nearly constantly.  I've had my hormonal moments while pregnant... to be expected, of course.  I've found myself taking his typical sarcastic jokes to heart.  I sit there, my mind telling me "don't take this personal. Seriously, it's not that serious.  You know he's joking just like you always do.  Stop. Now. Seriously, don't be upset about this".  And yet, my heart is welling up with hurt and tears and biting back my overly emotional reaction.  I've been tough to live with, I'm sure, and yet, he's pretty much handled it like a pro.  It's ridiculous how often I feel that stupid, giddy feeling when I think about him.  I find out he's on his way home, and I get so excited to hear the garage door open and his Jeep door slam.  He sends me a simple "how are the kids doing?" text after he knows I've picked them up from school, and it makes my whole day feel better.  I just find myself loving him more everyday, and I can't imagine that feeling ever going away.  I can't wait for him to hold our daughter.  I know that my love will grow by leaps and bounds when we've made it through to the other side of this pregnancy, and his daddy's girl is here to greet the world.