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 wa