The Miracle that Changed My Life

 Every year, on some platform (if not all of them), I celebrate Lola's birthday by sharing her story, our story. It doesn't get old. Is it repetitive? Sure, it is. But it is worth telling. She is worth celebrating.

It's not just the story of her birth, though. It is the story of her existence that is so life-changing. I was 36-years-old when I found out, in complete surprise and shock, that I was pregnant. At 36, I was living like most 21-year-olds. I had job that wasn't much to brag about. It brought in a couple bucks above minimum wage and barely paid the bills, and I do mean barely. I was in a slew of bad relationships. The relationship with Lola's birth father wasn't abusive, which which a step up from the ones who came before him, but it also wasn't anything to write home about. It was definitely on it's way out the door when I found out I was pregnant. I carried the, "It's just me and no one else is getting hurt so just let me do what I want," attitude, waving around like a flag everywhere I went. 

I had dreamed of being a mom for my entire life. I just knew it was what I was meant to do. But I was told very early on that it was out of the cards for me. It broke, and I do mean, broke something inside of me at the mere age of 18-years-old. But, over time, I found a way to go on. I set my sights on a career and chasing the right man. Needless to say, it wasn't until after Lola was born that the right man came along so, instead, I threw myself at all the wrong ones. I side-stepped my focus on being a high-powered career woman to allow shallow, self-loathing men to use me as a verbal, emotional and, at time, physical punching bag. I was barely finding my way out of a pattern of self-destruction when I found out I was 7 weeks pregnant!

I'll be completely transparent. When I found out, I didn't believe it. I made them check again ... and then again. It took a sonogram to prove it to me. And, upon finding out, was I elated? I mean, I'd always wanted to be a mom so this miracle was meant to put me over the moon, right? Sadly, no. No. Nope. Nah. Not at all. Honestly, I was pissed. I had been told all these years that this was not in the cards for me and now, when I was nowhere near in a place to be responsible for another life, here came this baby. I was mad at the doctors. I was mad at myself. I was just really, really mad. In addition to being mad, I was terrified. All of these fears about miscarriage flooded my mind. I mean, if I wasn't supposed to have been able to have a baby, would I really carry one to term?

To make matters worse, I was considered a geriatric pregnancy (still feel so awful to hear that), high risk, with hyperemesis and Lola's birth father ditched out in the middle of the night a few weeks after he found out about Lola because, apparently, I was being too mean to him. Fine. Bye, Felecia. I was planning on breaking up with you pre-pregnancy revelation, anyway. So, no big heartbreak there. However, I was sick as a dog. I was alone, not qualifying for state assistance and sick as a dog 24/7. I resigned from my job, moved back to my childhood home with my mom (who was not too happy about me quitting my job) and just kind of sat there, feeling stuck, with no plan. 

In all of this anger and confusion and loss, however, I never considered anything other than having my baby. I was numb for awhile. I was scared to pick out names because that made it real which, in turn, mean if I lost it then it was going to hurt even more. But time passed, clarity came, goals were made and love really began to flow. I mean, don't get me wrong. It was not all roses. I was a MISERABLE pregnant woman. I was cranky and mean and absolutely exhausted all the time. But, eventually, I let myself be truly happy. I picked a name (a story for another time) and began to really pay attention to the baby that I was growing. 

Once I allowed myself to really be a mom, to revel in those intimate moments a mom has when her baby first kicks or rolls or compresses her stomach so she can't keep food down (you know what I'm talking about mommas), I truly began to change. My focused cleared. I saw my future. I knew what I wanted and didn't want for my daughter. I knew that I would be doing it alone (God had other plans, little did I know) and, more importantly, I knew that I could.(I also had an amazing support system that allowed me to just really bask in the moments of becoming a mom after so many years of believing I never would be and were there to step up if I ever needed it. For that, I am forever grateful.)

Then, on February 19, 2018, after 15 hours of labor (none of which I felt thanks to a very early epidural) and then an emergency C-Section, Lola Grace Slatten was born. She was perfect and beautiful. She had orange hair, which was a bit surprising, and rosy red cheeks and didn't utter even a cry. She had a few moments where oxygen wasn't her friend but she battled it out and within a few hours was the vibrant spirit that she still is today. 

I tell everyone all of the time that Lola saved me. I, honestly, do not know where I would be today had that little miracle not happened to me. I was headed nowhere fast and I didn't have enough regard for myself to care. However, with Lola came goals and clarity that I hadn't ever had before. The path I took to get to the job I have now, the tax bracket I am in now (not that it's a big one but it's not minimum wage), the man I'm with, the home I own ... those all came because of Lola. She came into my life and instantly changed it. I have found more motivation, healing, self-worth, self-love, work ethic and power to go on when I thought I couldn't than I ever had before. 

So, on the celebration of this third birthday for Miss Lola, all I can say is thank you. Thank you to God for letting me be the one to have this miracle. Thank you to those who supported me even after the destructive path I was on that, despite my beliefs, DID hurt more than just myself. And thank you to Lola for changing absolutely everything for me.