I kept my baby.

Even though I was sixteen,
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 myself) 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 that
I kept my baby.

Written by Whitney Ballard, Writer. Published with permission from the author. See Original Post