I was a typical high school teenager until the day I found out I was pregnant — the worst day of my life. I went to the doctor with my mom because I had been throwing up for almost a month and we wanted to figure out why. My doctor came back with some test results. She listed everything it was not, before she dropped the bomb: "Well, it's not cancer, thankfully, and it's not diabetes," she said, and continued until, finally, I heard the words: "But you are almost eight weeks pregnant."

What?! I burst into tears as my mom kept repeating: "It's OK, we'll make it work. It's not the worst thing in the world."

Not the worst thing in the world? "I would rather have cancer," I remember thinking. Me, a 17-year-old high school senior who was still trying to figure out what to do with her life, was now pregnant. Why me? I knew girls who slept around, and here I was, practically a virgin. The first time I ever "did it," I got pregnant. What's fair about that?

Months went by and sickness took over my body. I could only lie in the dark of my room and throw up all day. I hated this baby. (How could I know then that the child would turn out to be the love of my life?) Meanwhile, the father — my ex-boyfriend — told me that I could not stop him from assuming his role as parent. While it was admirable for him to take responsibility, the fear of missing my baby, before she was even born, drove me crazy.

Then I got fat. Really fat. I was forced to do independent study, instead of finishing my senior year in person, because I was so sick. I wanted to graduate with my class and when I did I was five-months pregnant — absolutely no hiding my tummy bump. I had to answer stupid questions about my dilemma to everyone around me, and I realized how solitary I felt throughout my ordeal. People took pity on me, but my friends were not really my friends anymore. Those who had been close eventually drifted away. Some classmates' parents viewed me as a bad role model. I was still not too happy about having this baby.

By the time summer arrived, the sickness passed. Now I was just hot, fat and lazy. It was hard to sleep in the unbearable heat because I was so huge. I couldn't watch television because every food advertisement gave me an intense craving. It was during those summer days that the most amazing thing happened: I felt my daughter move inside me. It was the weirdest, coolest, most thrilling thing I had ever experienced. I could feel her. I felt her head, and her bottom, and even her little fist as she twisted and turned inside the little sack she lived in. I guess this baby wasn't as bad as I first imagined.

On the big day, I woke up with stomach pains so intense I thought I would never walk again. My mom rushed me to the hospital at 7:45 a.m. and slowly walked me up to the maternity ward. I got the epidural the moment I got there and felt no pain until the time came to actually give birth. I remember thinking: "I'm not ready! Can't this wait?"

I was scared, excited and in so much pain all at the same time; I couldn't fathom the facts of my situation, just how I felt about it. After the worst pain I had ever known, the greatest joy I had ever known entered my life.

Marilyn Anne Soto was born Nov. 6, 2006, and weighed 8 pounds, 13 ounces. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, and still is. She brings a joy and love into my life that I cannot put into words. All she has to do is be in the room and my whole day is brighter. She has grown from a little ball of love that I could hold in my arms while she slept on my chest to a rambunctious toddler that I have to chase around the house. Although I have lost many of the freedoms and choices that I see other teenagers enjoy, I wouldn't change a moment of it for the world. Just my baby's smile, even when it was toothless, could make me cry with joy at how lucky I am to have her.

This life-changing experience has made me a strong believer in the saying, "Things happen for a reason." I have no idea where I might be if I never got pregnant — maybe even rich and famous. But I know I could never be as happy as I am with Marilyn in my life.

Still, when she grows up, I plan to tell my daughter to take precautions, so that she will experience the joys of motherhood when she chooses it — not when it chooses her.

— Alyssa Soto is a journalism student at Moorpark College. This is her first published article.