The sin that could’ve consumed me.

February 19th was a normal day. For most people, that is. It was a relatively average day in 1996.

I was born in a small hospital in a town I get to call home for now and my mama cried.

All of them do, right?

Apparently my head was perfectly round, a feature that was mentioned several times considering my brother had been born three years earlier on a much warmer day with a much less perfectly-shaped head.

I was wrapped in a blanket that wouldn’t make me distinguishable from any other baby born that year–that decade even. I was blonde and reportedly beautiful, and I was born that way.

Don’t call me Lady Gaga just yet, but I was born that way.

As precious as I was in those moments, I was born with a nature that was particularly inclined to sin, to worry specifically.

sin

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