Rage Against The Machine

I intended to blog today about the adventure the last year has been, as today is our little Lyric's first birthday.  Initially, I wasn't going to infiltrate this post with politics, but today, more than ever, it seems crucially important to recognize the division in our world and to speak about it.  What I hope for, today, on my daughter's first birthday, is that, one day, she will be a voice of activism and reason in her community.  I hope that for all of my children.  I want them to live in and contribute to a world where campaigns like #blacklivesmatter become irrelevant because, truly, black lives actually WILL matter.  It is obvious that in our world today, they don't.  I want my children to stand for big things, and fall for nothing.  I want them to see injustice and rise against.  It doesn't matter right now that white people matter because in this nation, white people have always mattered.  Black people haven't, and judging by the corruption at the hands of those meant to protect us, and the citizens who see no wrong here, they still don't matter.  This is unacceptable.  Hate will never lead to peace.  Intolerance will never lead to justice.  The political machine that feeds into us all day, everyday, the mass media - someone needs to hold these people accountable.  Hate creates division, and a nation divided is a nation collapsing.

This cannot be the world we are leaving for our children. 

Free Time

Free time is a funny thing anymore.  With four kids, a husband, and a household to keep up with, sometimes I feel like there's not even a point in trying to find free time.  But then sometimes, the three older kids occupy themselves, and your husband tells you he's taking the baby to the store, and you realize that, for just a moment, you might get a little free time.  So he backs down the driveway, you turn around, and there stands one of the three previously occupied children, asking for yet another snack.  And then you hear the voice of child number two telling you that he's bored.  And then about 25 seconds later, the last of the three previously occupied children is at your feet, also begging for a snack.  Your husband's generous offer screeches to a halt.  So you do your best to satisfy the needy children, but your answers aren't the ones they are looking for - "you've already had a snack, and it's almost dinnertime" because then you get the back to back to back "how soon is dinner?" questions.  But finally, you nearly threaten life or limb because Mommy. Just. Needs. A. Minute.  So they scamper off for maybe the next 30 seconds, and you fall into the couch, and breathe.  And 30 seconds passes, so you decide to turn on Netflix, only to get the "Too many devices currently viewing" message because the only way the children could leave you in peace was if the boys watched something in one room, and the daughter watched something much girlier in another room.  Sigh.  So you coax and beg the daughter to please just join the boys in the other room so that you can please have a moment of Netflix to yourself.  Miraculously, she complies.  I mean that. Miraculously.  Because when has she ever just complied with a request?  So the stars have aligned, and you finally get to sit down for just a couple minutes before the free time is over.

Honestly, thank god for husbands.  Thank god for husbands taking little ones on an adventure to the grocery store.  Thank for god free time, even if it's just a few minutes here and there. 

This challenge.

In my own head, I am considering this the 'challenge of a lifetime'. I know that I'm being a bit dramatic, but it feels like a REALLY BIG DEAL. I was raised on processed foods and drinks. You know, like probably every single child born before 2000. There seemed to be some sort of shift around that time towards free-range, grass-fed, organic such-and-such. It was a small movement at first, but it's garnered a lot of support over the last several years, and people are finally starting to realize that they probably shouldn't be eating, and feeding their kids, the crap we've all enjoyed for decades. That's why this is the 'challenge of a lifetime' for me. You'll find me sipping on a can of soda with cheese balls and icing smeared across my face in pictures from 1994. This was great. Seriously, what kid wouldn't love that? But as an adult, it has created a serious health struggle for me as I've tried to kick the sugar addiction and discourage ever developing one in my own children.

That's why during the month of May, I am going to be doing the Whole30 challenge. The idea behind this is very simple, but the implementation of it will be much more difficult. To give you a quick rundown of what this actually entails, it means that I stick to whole, real, non-processed foods - meats, veggies, and fruits. Some have dubbed this the "dinosaur diet" or the "caveman diet". 

In simple terms, it means:

-no added sugar

-no legumes

-no dairy

-no grains

-no seed oils

-no alcohol

-no carrageenan, MSG, or sulfites

-no trying to "cheat" by making junk food with approved ingredients

The hardest part of this will be the no sugar rule, followed by the no dairy rule, followed by no alcohol. I drink a couple of times a week, so no addiction there, I just enjoy it. Sugar and dairy, however, are everyday (like all day, errday) things. It will be interesting, no doubt.

As far as why I am doing this, well, I have a long list of reasons. A few of these are:

-weight loss. That seems obvious, right? I hope that through the detox of the unhealthy stuff from my body, I will shed 5 to 10 lbs.

-kick the sugar addiction. It is in everything, and its addictive property is why I have a lifelong habit of snack, snack, snacking all day long. 

-more restful sleep. Hand in hand with dropping the sugar habit, I hope to achieve more restful periods of sleep that will have me waking up much easier (before the earliest rising kid, perhaps?!). 

-longer periods of sleep for Lyric. This is not backed up by any science (at least that I have heard or researched), but I feel like if sugar and dairy and grains can cause me to have restless sleep (which IS backed up by science), then surely the same could be happening to my breastfed infant. She wakes up 2-3 times on average, but sometimes more, and she has never been a good napper. More restful sleep for the baby could be life changing for the whole household.

-learning actual hunger cues and the feeling full sensation. When my body learns to operate the way it is actually supposed to, I look forward to knowing what it feels like to be full because your body has taken in the appropriate amount of nutrition, and not full because my jeans suddenly feel tight and I'm starting to sweat. ;)

-decreased or eliminated joint pain. When I am properly nourished, I look forward to greatly diminished aches and pains in my back and knees.

-increased performance and results from exercise. As a result of a healthier body, and less joint pain, I cannot wait to see how this plan for nutrition will affect my performance in my Beachbody workouts. I have high hopes, and I don't think I will be disappointed!

-diminished or eliminated tinea versicolor. I have splotches across my abdomen and neck that I've had since puberty. They sort of come and go a little with pregnancy, but overall, are always present in some form. I'm curious to see if the Whole30 will reset my body to a point where this could potentially be eliminated.

Other than the general difficulties that will come from a drastic nutritional change, like finding compliant meals and snacks, planning ahead for times when I won't be at home for a meal, and lots & lots of meal prepping, I, somewhere along the line, thought all of this didn't sound difficult enough, so... I am also taking my 4 & 6 year old children on this journey with me. My 4 & 6 year old very picky children. Like, when I say "picky", I mean like PICKY. I offered my 4 year old son a beater from the mixing bowl to lick when I was making a gluten-free Oreo & cream cheese cake about a month ago, and he looked at it in disgust and said, "no way, yuck!". My kids are weird. They are stubborn and frustrating when it comes to new or healthy foods. However, I feel like there is no better time than right now to instill better eating habits in these kids. My hope is simply that I do not pull all of my hair out in a screaming, raging fit after day three because my children are on a hunger strike. They won't be 100% compliant as I plan to be because we have 4 kids and a very busy lifestyle, so sometimes I just need to be able to throw a pouch of applesauce into my dauhgter's lunchbox and call it good. I do however plan to completely eliminate the sugary crap they so often eat, and the non-compliance will be severely limited. Chances are, they will spend the whole month of May in my home; however, if they do end up at their father's house, I know full well they will not at all be sticking to this plan. That will only be for a day or two, tops, though. My 4 & 6 year old children have celiac disease, and occasionally still experience stomach issues or low energy levels, as well as joint pain in my 4 year old son. I am hopeful that this will be severely diminished or completely eliminated on the whole30 plan.

So, that's that, folks. That's about the long and short of it. I am nervous, and I am excited, and I am pretty damn determined to see this thing through. Wish my family luck! I plan to document our journey at least weekly, if not more, and I look forward to our final update at the end of May. Peace & good health to all. :-)

The thought of failure

The first thing that I would do would be to finally sit down and start (and finish) writing a novel. And then, it would be getting it published. The thought is terrifying. It is daunting, despite the long lasting desire I have always had to do such a thing. But even more than those things, the idea that I could do that is thrilling. I think that I am a good writer, and I wonder what sort of story I would pull from my brain if I dedicated the time to actually writing. 

Secondly, I would eat healthier. I would rid my body of grains and rely solely on meats, vegetables, and fruits - ya know, the dino way. I took gluten out of my diet and saw many positive reactions to my body, but I am a human who oftentimes has little self control, and I have cheated myself with food on multiple occasions. 

I would pursue Beachbody coaching more fervently. I believe in the products and believe that I could help people turn their lives and their health and their bodies around, but I do not believe that I am capable of handling the negative responses I would get if I did such a thing.

I am unhappy with my current position in life, and I know that I am capable of changing that, but I am scared to try. I love my husband. I love my children. I am hopeful for the future, but I am disappointed that I have no direction. Mostly, I would find that. I would find my direction and I would go wholeheartedly towards wherever it led me.

These things. These are the things I would do if I could not fail.

5.1.15

Marriage is really freaking hard. I'm not kidding. I have a hard enough time knowing what the hell is going on inside of my own head most of the time, but in a marriage? I feel like I have to also know what is going on inside of somebody else's head. It is probably... No, definitely... the hardest thing I have ever done. Parenting comes semi-naturally, I think. Sure, I may be screwing them up in the long run, but I at least feel confident while I am making the decisions. In a marriage, I feel like I am always guessing, like one of those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books. It is scary, and most days I feel like I am failing at making the 'right' decisions. Marriage takes a lot more than just loving someone, that's for sure. It is scary and real and it will make you feel like you have no fucking idea what you are doing.

Clearly, tonight has been one of those nights where I have no idea what happened or why I am up right now with no idea of what the last two hours entailed. But ya know what? I fucking love him, and I will go to the ends of this Earth to figure out how a fully functioning marriage works because by God, I can't imagine life without this wonderful, sexy, incredibly smart & talented man by my side because I don't want to. 

I feel like I have never been married before because marriage has never felt like 'this' before. 'This' means scary & real &, did I mention, scary? It means stupid arguments over text messages and completely misreading each other some nights. It means screwing up and having no idea how to push the reset button, but trying (and failing) to push it anyway. It is all of the hugs and kisses and love you could ever possibly want, but maybe not all in one night. It is not knowing what the fuck I am talking about, but absolutely loving and appreciating the man fast asleep beside me because there is no other soul on this planet that I would rather do this life with.

Marriage: it's funny and terrifying and completely fly-by-night. Spencer, what the hell are we doing? I don't know, but I want more. I know I am crazy and confusing and you know what? I love you.

Honoring A Hero

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

In the last six days, I have seen my community come together in love & solidarity amidst a tragedy. Our beautiful little corner of the world here in upstate South Carolina was dark but for a moment last Friday, March 18, when an officer of local law enforcement lost his life at the hands of a criminal, a gang member, a child. I cannot begin to fathom what his friends and family have felt over the last week because I know that even with the sincerest use of my imagination, what I muster up cannot come close to the sinking reality of losing a friend or family member so tragically.

When I first heard the news that an officer had been fatally wounded, I felt the automatic sadness that comes from hearing such news. I flashed back to life several years ago, when fear of my ex husband not coming home everyday was very real in my world.  My ex husband is a former police officer, and I remember the feeling I had for his position as the spouse. It was fear mixed with pride, and I spent many nights in my younger years praying, to who I'm not sure, but praying that I would never have to explain why Daddy wasn't coming home anymore to my two young toddlers. If you have never been a part of a LEO family, I'm not sure you can adequately understand the bit of fear you feel when you kiss your significant other, or son, or mother, or father, knowing that there is a true reality of them meeting a fateful end when they don that patrol belt and bulletproof vest. So in the middle of the night last Friday, while I was up to feed the baby, I read the news that turned this nameless officer into a very real person, and one that I had actually met in passing before. I felt compelled to share his identity with my husband right then & there, at 4 in the morning, and we shared the sadness in the dark of our bedroom.  For the next several days, the news of his passing, thoughts of his family, and questions about what we could do to support those left behind, all stayed at the forefront of our minds.

Officer Allen Jacobs left behind in this earthly world two young sons, a beautiful, loving wife, and a sweet unborn baby girl. What I have witnessed from my community since his passing has been nothing short of beautiful. I have seen love and solidarity come out in droves. We have all watched Officer Jacobs' patrol car become beautifully adorned in flowers, cards, pictures, little pieces of memories that people felt compelled to share. 

When I told my four year old son of the news, he immediately was concerned for the two boys close to his age. He began asking lots of questions about why God would let them lose their daddy. These were questions I was unable to come up with any answers to. His answer to the sadness, though, was to make a card for the boys. He was sad that they were sad, and he told me that a card would make him feel a little bit better if he were sad, so he set to work. He later approached me to tell me he was sad about their unborn baby sister too. "When will she be born?" he asked me, and I told him she was expected to be born right around his own little sister's birthday. He immediately got very excited, and said to me, "I hope she's born on Lyric's birthday, and you know why? If she's born on Lyric's birthday, they can be friends always and she will never have to be sad on her birthday because she will have a friend for life." My heart ached with love and sadness and pride at my young boy's response to this entire tragedy. 

I have read biographies and articles and heard snippets of Allen Jacobs' life, and confidently, I can say that he led an honorable and influential life. I am saddened at this terrible loss, but I feel respect and admiration for the unity I have felt within my community. I feel certain that the family of Officer Jacobs will be wrapped in loving arms and have support from every corner.  I am grateful that from the ashes of tragedy, a cloak of love has been formed.

"Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." Matthew 5:9

Officer Allen Lee Jacobs

E.O.W. March 18, 2016

A tale of bullshit.

I have to wonder if I will ever overcome the struggle that began 4 years ago. I find myself daydreaming (day-nightmaring?) almost every single day about being cheated on. Not in the I-think-my-husband-would-cheat-on-me kind of way, but in the let-me-create-an-elaborate-tale-of-how-he-could-cheat-on-me kind of way. And I don't even realize that I'm doing it until the stupid tale has already been spun.

It's unfair to myself to continually be in this mindset that no matter what I do or how hard I love or the passion that I try to put into being a wonderful wife, the voice inside will never allow myself to believe that who I am will always be enough. This is basically what I was getting at in my post from two years ago, when I talked about how I felt that I was Never enough.

The hardest part about the tornado that my mind sends itself into is that I have zero, none, absolutely no reason to ever feel that my husband would so much as think about another woman in the way that only I, his wife, should be thought of.  But still, time after time, my brain works itself into a long line of thought about things that maybe I should have done differently that could maybe one day lead to being cheated on again.  What I mean by that is - I question myself constantly.  I wasn't very chipper this morning, what if a random woman he works with is more cheerful than I was this morning?  I didn't put on make up yesterday, I bet he noticed and wonders why I'm not putting effort into myself.  I still have the rest of the baby weight to lose, I wonder if it took his ex wife this long to lose the baby weight.  Let me be clear, I have an unbelievably supportive and uplifting husband.  I really mean that.  He calms these unreasonable fears and never jump starts the cycle of thought by his own doing.  But inevitably and unfairly, there they always are. 

I don't know how to break this cycle, so instead I just get angry.  I divert my anger towards my ex husband who is responsible for this damage to my mind and my spirit.  In our years of marriage, the idea of a person cheating on another person - that's just in the movies, right?  That could surely never happen to us because.  Because.  So I never unfairly gave way to any thought about him ever cheating on me, and then he so kindly took my love and trust into the arms of another woman, and broke me in the process.  I truly feel from the bottom of my soul that it was for the best that I became the cheated on wife because, in all honesty, I never could have felt the happiness I feel now.  I was happy in the marriage, sure.  If anyone had ever asked,  I would have gone into a long winded speech of praise for my faithful and loving husband and our wonderful marriage.  But now that I am on the other side, I was so naive.  I wasn't happy - I was content.  I poured most of my energy into making friends online that could sympathize with my situation of displaced Army wife.  He focused his energy on work and physical training and video games and baseball.  I focused my energy on kids and military spouse forums.  We didn't spend time together; we merely spent time alone within feet of each other.  It was probably the perfect storm to create infidelity, though I never would have seen it for myself in the moment. 

My point is - what I experience now in my relationship is far beyond that.  I am happier, more fulfilled, and grateful, so grateful for what my life consists of now. But that is why the torment I put myself through is so much more terrible.  My husband doesn't deserve to be mentally placed into these situations where I imagine the countless ways he could one day break my heart.  I trusted wholeheartedly a man that would crush me, and because of that, I don't allow myself to extend this same courtesy of trust to my husband when he is someone who undoubtedly deserves it. It doesn't help that infidelity is everywhere, always planting ridiculous seeds and new, fun scenarios that I just drop myself and my husband right into.  In the middle of reading a wonderful book about a lovely couple (man, these two remind me of Spencer and me!), BAM! The man decides to cheat on his girlfriend out of nowhere.  Girl moves on from this broken heart and later gets married to a seemingly great guy.  Years later, BAM! Her husband is caught sleeping with her boss.  What the fuck, world?  Why is infidelity so fun to write about?  Why is it always included in just about every story line of every book and movie I seem to find?  (I'm looking you in the eyes, Love Actually.)

Now, all of that aside, I know I have the issue here.  I'm not sure how to overcome this.  I honestly fear that I never will.  On the one hand, I know that it is contained inside my own head and would never cause any actual doubt or mistrust towards my husband, but on the other hand, who wants to have to deal with that forever because of some jerky ex-husband's actions?  It is not fun, and I am determined to squash those nightmare bunnies (get it? like dust bunnies?) back into the deep, dark crevices of my brain.  Or better yet, I'd love to just Swiffer those bastards right the fuck out of there.  Wish me luck.

Repeat.

The T-shaped demon lay on a washcloth, staring at me, while heavy tears ran down the length my body.  My chest heaved with every sob, and I struggled to catch my breath. Just outside the bathroom door, I could hear my two children giggling and playing, having a real moment together, while just inside the bathroom door, I was having a moment all my own.  This minute piece of plastic has been treacherous. Detrimental to my health mentally, physically, emotionally.  If this recountment seems a bit dramatic, over the top, that's because everything having to do with the Mirena has been over the top, dramatic.

Four years ago, I made what I called "the best decision I've ever made regarding my health" when I chose to get my Mirena IUD removed. It had caused immediate and severe postpartum depression in myself, and had turned my sweet, chubby little infant into a non-sleeping, fussy, and forgive me for saying it - nearly intolerable little child. I didn't realize the connection for months, but eventually threw the timeline together and it became clear that these problems started after placement of my Mirena. I made a vow to myself then that I would never go down that dark path again.  So when my midwife asked me, following the birth of my youngest child if I wanted a Mirena, I mildly questioned it, but eventually decided it was the best route. What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking.

Lyric has been a baby, nearly identical in nature to her big brother, Avery, as an infant. Fussy, non-sleeping, oftentimes intolerable. Why it took me 6 months (again) to make the connection to the Mirena, I don't know. I dare say it was negligible on my part to both our healths.  I have been temperamental, sad, lonely when my husband is giving me his full  attention, and anxious over just about everything under the sun. My husband might even say I was a bit intolerable at times. I again had chalked it all up to postpartum anxiety, something that no doubt comes with the territory. We had, after all, gone from individual households to a blended family of 6 in a fairly short amount of time. But the way I was feeling every single day was beyond this day to  day stress. This was entire-world-on-my-shoulders stress. How-am-I-going-to-live-my-life-like-this stress. It was obvious to my husband that I was struggling, but if I'm being completely honest, my struggles were a lot darker down in there than even I had let on to him.

I am just over 24 hours past removal, and that is over 24 hours since I felt a proverbial boulder lift off my back. It will take an adjustment for my body to get used to the hormonal changes, but I am never going back. It is scary what something so small and seemingly insignificant can do to your health. I am done not having control over my own body. My tears yesterday stood for change. They stood for mental health and clarity. This begins a chapter of healthier, happier days marked by healthier, happier choices for us all.

Untitled

I don't know who this person in the mirror is. She looks familiar. Sounds familiar. More hollow than normal, I think. This person I see is not me. Least, not the best version of me. There are echoes of the best me that resound sometimes late at night or on the weekend. Happy, carefree. She comes out of hiding when I can forget about life's stresses for a moment. Other times, most times, I am sad and stressed and exhausted. This person is not the best, but she is real.

I am still spinning from my 4 year old's recent diagnosis of an autoimmune disorder. I am overwhelmed and constantly dealing with staggering anxiety. I will always worry for his quality of life and wonder if there will be any. He is labeled, now and forevermore, an outsider. My oldest daughter is tiresome. She is the sweetest child I know, but these moments of sweetness are so rare and highly unattainable on a regular basis. It breaks me to not know how to connect with her. Her personality is foreign to me, and I feel like I am constantly trying to reason with the enemy.  My infant is frustrating. She does not nap or sleep at night. She will not take a bottle so I can at least get a break. (I am desperate.) I am screamed at, fussed at, pinched, pulled, and scratched all day long by an unhappy baby. There is no recovery at the end of the day because there is never any sleep, only briefs moments of closed eyes before she is alert and screaming, needing again and again and again. She does not frustrate me by her actions - instead, I am frustrated in myself for feeling like such a lost mother. I do not feel like a good mother. I feel tired and sad and confused. Everyone in my house screams "Daddy", while internally, I yearn for them to scream for me. Can't they just want me some of the time? I give and give for these four children, and I still fall so short every single day.

I don't know where I am or when I'm coming back to who I want to be. I am searching, but I don't know where she has gone or if she's ever coming back. I feel broken.

A thank you.

I am unworthy of my husband. At least... I often feel that way. He is kind and hardworking and he loves me. Me. Good & bad. I have an unsavory past and it has not been an easy pill to swallow for myself or those close to me. Coming to grips with many of the poor choices I have made in my life has been a hard fought battle. It is not fair that I have managed to snag a man that loves me in spite of my lesser qualities. Those include, but are not limited to, my diarrhea of the mouth syndrome, my brutal honesty paired with my inability to reason other people's feelings, my periods that lacked critical thinking skills. I was a hopeless wreck that somehow got her act together and all (most) of my ducks in a row. But the past, yeah, it likes to pop its ugly little head up from time to time, and I hate that. I am so far from the person I was 3 years ago, it makes me shudder to remember what I put myself through. I was a broken idiot, and I spiraled for a long time. 

Like I said, I'm luckier than I should be and I don't really know how the man jackpot hit me when I am so very undeserving. He loves me wholly, he challenges me daily, and he literally makes me feel like my heart could beat out of my chest when I stop and think about this life I have with him. He puts up with my bullshit, doesn't make me feel (too) silly about my erratic emotions and the roller coaster that has been my adult life. He keeps it real and helps me to heal, especially when I wrongly think that I am already all glued back together. I'm not sure what he saw in this mess of a soul, but I will forever be indebted to this compassionate man for seeing beauty where I only saw wreckage. 

Amen.

If you are out there somewhere,

Please accept my apology.

I want to believe,

But I don't know if I can.

I am trying.

Impassioned.

I should stay off social media when anything of any significance is happening in the world. But I don't, so I let off steam by ranting a little. I am reminded how intolerant the world is, and it hurts my heart and my brain. I am still recovering from the ups and downs of postpartum hormones, so my emotions get a bit out of whack from time to time. I am sure these are exacerbated by reading the hate-filled words that fill the Facebook timelines. The world is not going to hell in a hand basket because school children don't say the Pledge of Allegiance anymore (my public school child still says it daily in class). Obama is not causing the demise of Earth. The world is not going to hell any faster or any differently than it ever has before. Muslims are not ruining the world. No, they should not be deported, or rounded up and imported into a database, or IN ANY WAY, have to explain their religious beliefs.  This is not Nazi Germany. Remember all those millions of Jews (see also: refugees) that were murdered? Refugees are not ruining the world. To say they are... it's disgusting. Today, refugees are running from a war that our country had a hand in creating. Do people forget how generally fucked up the world has always been? In fact, when has the world not had fucking awful things going on? If you feel the world is so god awful, be the change. Posting bullshit memes on social media is not being the change. Being the change is fucking educating yourself. This does not include hitting the share button on every politically charged, and likely factually inaccurate post you read on Facebook. Do some due diligence. Is the shit you're sharing even true? If it's on Facebook and has no source attached, it's probably bullshit. Remember that. Even if it has a source attached, is it factual or just propaganda? Read. Research. Fucking. Educate. Yourself.

One more rant. Pity parties are not pretty. Stop. A party of one is not a fun party to be at. Pull up your bootstraps, your panties, grab those fucking chonies and get yourself together. Everybody else's happiness was not put here to highlight your sad existence. In fact, the only thing that highlights a sad existence is you - highlighting your sad existence. There is always a reason to be happy. This does not mean you have to be happy all the time - this means try being happy sometimes. Appreciate the things you do have. Appreciate that you live in a first world country. Clean water and food are not only accessible, but so are cigarettes, liquor, soda, and fast food. Every vice you can imagine, you can EASILY ACCESS. Hell, take a minute to appreciate the fact that you are not a refugee trying to find safety for your refugee children while being compared to terrorists. 

And on a final note, realize how privileged you are.

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. 

Untested Virtue.

My two very curious kids have been asking me some pretty tough questions lately.  I've already gotten the questions like "how did Spencer put the baby in your tummy, Mama?" and "well, how will the baby come out?"  I'm totally fine answering those questions in scientifically, yet age-appropriate ways, and the kids seem to be cool with the answers I've given.  The questions I haven't been prepared for, though, are things like my 3 year old son asking me, "who made the world, Mama?" and my daughter following up with "but who put the stars and the sun and the moon in the sky?"  I of course can't give my 3 and 5 year olds an answer about cosmos and nebulas and supernovas and the Big Bang Theory because 1) they won't understand it which will leave them confused and frustrated and 2) I don't even have a good grasp of what that all means.

I am not a religious person.  I was not raised religious, and never grew up in a church.  I dabbled in going to church in middle and high school, when my friends and I found a Unitarian church that we were pretty intrigued by.  It was a welcoming place, but I never gave much thought to the things I was actually learning in the youth group, so my takeaway was next to nothing, except that church wasn't as bad as I'd always imagined.  When I went away to college, I jumped head first, full speed ahead into the church.  I knew very few people when I started at Coastal Carolina University, so I tagged along with my then-fiance's sister and her roommate, and I found myself going to weekly meetings at a group called Refuge.  This is where I got my first real introduction to Christianity.  I went to a Methodist church every Sunday, and actually felt very at home there.  I came very close to getting baptized, and had a very few real moments of "wow, I think I actually believe in this stuff".  I remember one specifically when I was sitting at my desk in my dorm room, on the phone with a friend named Aaron.  We were discussing my recent breakup with my fiance, and he was trying to be encouraging.  I flipped open the bible (my very first bible) that I had recently been given, and the first passage I laid eyes on gave me exactly the guidance and answer that I'd been seeking.  I can't remember the passage now... I wish I could, but I remember thinking, "did that really just happen?" and wondering if, truly, there was a God looking out for me.

Fast forward a few months, and I fell away from it all.  I began to see the very judgmental sides of some of the friends I had made in the Christian community, and in the end, it disillusioned me to it all.  I felt like I was in an all-or-nothing community, where I had to be a bible-thumping, God-fearing, Jesus freak.  Questions weren't allowed here, and I fell away from it just as soon as I'd fallen into it.  Since then, I've never revisited it much, except inside of my own head. 

I remember expressing to my ex-husband how much I wished that we could raise our kids in the church.  I'd seen my friends growing up who had friends from birth onward that they grew up together in the church with, and I always felt some serious jealousy.  I was envious of that beautiful community that they were all a part of.  At the end of the day though, I've never been able to really commit myself to believing in the higher power that the majority of the world has such faith in.  I'm a big proponent of "you have to see it to believe it", and since I've never seen any such proof, I can't seem to wrap my head around it.  I would love to, and I have such envy for people who can have that unwavering faith, but I guess I'm not one of those people, even if I desire to be. 

Anyway, I'm at a loss as to how to answer the questions.  Do I answer them the way I want to answer them, even if I have no faith to back that up?  Or do I answer them by stalling and giving as best of a scientific answer as I can, which, thus far, has been a lot of "I don't know"?  The kids' dad is not religious, by any means, and he hasn't had much input as to what we tell them.  On the other hand, Spencer does believe in God and always has, and I wonder then what we will tell our child together, if we have differing beliefs.