Teen pregnancy was common around me growing up, but I always thought it would never happen to me. Then, in April 2003, I found out I was pregnant. I did not tell anyone and tried to live normally playing sports, going to school hoping it would somehow go away. That changed when I felt the baby move for the first time. I was scared and struggling with fear and sadness. One autumn day, I came home from school to find my parents waiting for a pregnancy test
. My parents found out. The test was positive, and I saw the disappointment in their eyes. I cried like I never had before. But then, my mom told me, “we will make sure this baby is healthy,” and placed her hand on my belly noticing how far I was already. Soon after, I had an ultrasound and found out I was seven months pregnant with a girl.
I was in shock. I should have been enjoying high school, but my life changed completely. My belly grew quickly, and soon it was clear I was pregnant. My mom arranged for an adoption counselor to visit. She was kind and gentle, and I realized that open adoption could be the right path. I talked with my baby’s father, and we decided to choose this option. We checked out different families who might adopt our baby, and the first book I saw stood out a pale green cover with a warm looking couple.
They stayed in my thoughts. We eventually met them for dinner. I was nervous, hoping they were the right ones. After dinner, I got into the car and broke down in tears. I told the baby’s father, “Those are the people who will raise our daughter.” I knew in my heart it was the right choice.
As the due date came closer, I wrote a birth plan. While other teens were picking dresses for dances, I was preparing to give birth. On January 10, I went into labor. I showered, did my hair and makeup. I wanted pictures to remember our short time together.
At the hospital, I asked her adoptive parents to wait so I could have some time alone with her. When she was born, she was perfect: ten tiny fingers and toes, small eyes, and a loud cry. We named her Kya Monet. I held her as long as I could, knowing she was not mine to keep. On January 12, I dressed her in her going-home outfit and wheeled her to her new parents. I kissed her one last time and placed her in her adoptive mother’s arms. Over the years, we stayed in touch.
Sometimes we saw each other often, sometimes not. But I always knew how she was doing. Her adoptive family has been kind and loving. Watching her call another woman “mom” broke my heart at times, but I always knew she was deeply loved. Now she is 16, doing really welling school, and committed to a D1 soccer team. We see each other every week.
My other kids adore her, and my house is a safe place for her. I am so proud of who she is becoming. People ask if I regret choosing adoption. I do not. It broke my heart, but it gave her a future. I gave her life. Her parents gave her a future. And together, we gave her hope.
