I had a difficult time coming to terms with my pregnancy. I didn't know how I was going to tell my boyfriend (now my husband) and was absolutely terrified of the prospect of telling my parents.

I was a student in college when I met my boyfriend at work. We fell in love very quickly and had even discussed marriage. I knew he was the right one; I just never factored a baby into our little equation.

When I got pregnant I was afraid that he would be angry with me. I also could not wrap my mind around taking care of a child. It wasn't that I disliked babies, I just never had an overwhelming sense of love for them. They were cute to visit, but I wasn't filled with a sense of maternal instinct when I was around one. Not only that, but when I got pregnant I was still very much enjoying my party phase and independence. So the timing was less than great.

I considered terminating the pregnancy. After all, I justified, this is my life and the time isn't right for a baby. Maybe 10 years down the road, or even five, but not now. I called Planned Parenthood and set up an appointment to discuss my options with a staff member. A few days later I told my boyfriend. We shed a few tears over it and admitted to each other that we were scared. He said he would accompany me to my appointment and figure it out together.

The following week I got the first glimpse of my baby. There in a screen full of darkness, the doctor pointed out what looked like a little lima bean with a tiny flickering heartbeat. At that moment, I knew I was going to be a mom and never looked back.

Eight months later, after countless books, cravings, sleepless nights and nursery preparations, the big day had arrived. I was a walking time bomb. I was constantly on edge, hormonal, terrified and huge. I was also, to my disappointment, 10 days past my estimated due date! When the doctors told me an induction would be necessary, my heart sank. I had hoped to spend the first few hours of labor at home, and looked forward to nudging my husband awake at 3 a.m. saying, "Honey, it's time." Instead, we arrived at the hospital that next morning at 5 a.m., not a contraction to be felt.

Thirty hours of labor, an epidural and 15 minutes of pushing later, my baby girl was placed into my arms. Her skin was pink and rosy; her eyes were a dark blue. She had a tiny bit of blonde hair and the chubbiest cheeks I've ever seen. She was perfect. I felt an overwhelming urge to cry, but couldn't seem to. I just smiled. I smiled and felt grateful that my baby was here and perfect, and that I had made the choice to embrace motherhood.

My husband and I still call our baby Bean, because that was the moment our wonderful lives with her began.