When I was a senior in high school, my friends and I had talked about how we wanted kids. Out of a group of fifteen, I was the only one that never wanted to have my own kids. I wanted to adopt. My freshman year in college, I met a boy who was to become my husband. We had decided we wanted to get married the following year. About three months after we got engaged, I found out we were pregnant. I was scared to death. We had seen horror stories in school about giving birth and raising children and I definitely did not think I was ready for that.

The nine months of pregnancy helped me bond with my son. Even though I couldn't hold him, I could still talk to him, sing to him, read to him, and grow to love him.

I was induced two weeks after my due date. It started out just fine. By the time my water broke at three thirty in the afternoon, things were starting to become a little harried. By nine thirty that night after three hours of pushing, my doctor decided I needed to have an emergency c-section. My son was trying to come out upside down. The doctor gave my husband a choice: which one did he want the doc to save? Me or the baby? I don't know what would have happened if one of us didn't make it, but I don't think it would have been good for either my son or myself. The first time I was able to hold my son in my arms, the world melted. I was glad I had had a son. He was the most precious person I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

My son is now twelve and is growing to be a man. He stand almost as tall as I am. And will soon grow taller than I am. He helps when I ask, sometimes not willingly, but he will help. He is sensitive, kind, and caring. I couldn't ask for a better son and I am glad I have the one that was given to me.

Learn more about this author, Loreen Hutchins.
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