I kept my baby.
Even though I was 16.
Even though I didn’t know how I would.
I kept my baby.
Even when everyone told me “kids shouldn’t have kids”.
Or that I’d “ruin my life”.
I kept my baby.
I knew some would think I slept around.
That I was promiscuous.
I knew that girls would talk.
And boys would listen.
But I still kept my baby.
I knew there was a pill that could “take it all away’.
“My ‘problems’ could be gone tomorrow if I just took it today.”
But I knew that was a lie anyway.
So I kept my baby.
And because I kept my baby, it’s assumed I hate everyone who made a different choice.
I don’t.
I love them.
And I know how scared they were.
Because I was, too.
I know how these girls (and I) were misinformed when we were told it’s impossible.
It’s not.
I knew it would take a lot of trust and big faith when I kept my baby.
But when I did, this crazy thing happened.
It didn’t even ruin my life.
Not in any way.
Now I have a baby and a family.
I have a baby and a college degree.
I have a husband and even more babies.
I’ve raised a baby and still chased my own dreams.
So yes, I’ve done some things the hard way and I’ve grown up faster than I had to and I’ve struggled along the way.
But when I look at my sweet “baby” boy—
I’m so glad I kept my baby.
Originally published on Trains and Tantrums by Whitney Ballard