A year ago I was quick to announce things like I was never going to be a mother; I didn't want kids: I was too smart to get pregnant.....if I had only known.

Finding out I was pregnant was tough enough. Add to it that I had just moved back in with my parents 3000 miles away from the baby's father...it was a lot to take.

My family was not overly happy to hear that I was expecting; especially when they heard I was already fourteen weeks along. They pledged support tow what ever decision I made, but what would that be?

Abortion? I believe in freedom of choice, but faced with the choice I couldn't choose that option. There was a life inside of me...a life I created...I couldn't just end that.

Parenting? I was unemployed, unmarried, and unable to provide the family or future I wanted my baby and myself.

Adoption? Could I let someone else raise and love my child? I didn't want to, it would break my heart, but I had to learn this wasn't a decision I was making for me.

Referring to my child as "the baby" felt too detatched. So, I nicknamed her the squirt...a nickname that stuck even after she was born.

I tell people that every motherly instinct I never had kicked in. I was determined to keep my baby. I got millions of baby catalogs and started to daydream up a storm. Imagine all those cute little baby things, a crib, the smell of babies...it would be perfect.

Slowly I began to realize all the things I couldn't provide for my child. I wanted the squirt to have a healthy, stable family. She needed guidance and knowledge about both her races and heritages. She needed so much more than the love I could give her. No matter how much I wanted to I could not give the things I wanted the life inside of me to have. That was a painful realization.