"I Chose Adoption.".

Hi. My name is Annie H., and I am a "birthmother." My son was conceived during my first semester of college, as I was studying pre-med and running cross-country; naive, sure that "it-can't-happen-to-me." Shortly after breaking up with "Bob," I began to fear I was pregnant. Later, my roommate accompanied me to Birthright of Memphis for a pregnancy test. Sure enough, I was seven weeks along. I was in shock; I was a "good" person - - and I was pregnant.

Ironically, when I started having sex with Bob, I knew that if I got pregnant, I would choose adoption. I realized that I needed to place my baby for adoption, not just for myself, but for the baby - - my baby, the living, growing person that was being created in me. I knew there were other options: keeping the baby, or abortion, which I have opposed since "teenhood": there was no way I was going to violently kill my baby for my personal temporary comfort. As for raising him myself, I feared that as a single parent I just couldn't be enough. Bob was out of the picture, and although he knew I was pregnant, he denied his involvement, and we haven't spoken since.

End of semester, and I moved home, started community college, and started on the road to adoption. At first I felt like a "flunkie," but that semester I met many wonderful people who walked me down a path I don't think I could have crawled down alone. Meanwhile, I started meeting with a social worker at Catholic Charities to talk about all the emotional, social, and legal ramifications of placing a baby for adoption.

There were some dark moments, too, like when my mom and I fought or when Bob's mother tried to scare me out of adoption. One day, I was discussing my baby's future with a friend when a co-worker walked up and added, "If you're going to give your baby away, why didn't you just have an abortion?" I don't remember if I could even speak, but those words still bring a sour taste to my mouth. She was talking about my baby, my son, who bruised my ribs with his kicking, had the hiccups at least once a day, who kept me alive to keep him alive.

I cannot express the exuberance of feeling new life growing within you. I first felt the baby kicking at four months. FOUR MONTHS! What a miracle.

And I could not ...