I'm still not entirely sure what gear inside your head has shifted—why you went from wanting to "spoil" my baby to being intimidated by the very idea of me having a child. Maybe it was because of Prom or parties. Maybe it was because you think babies are overly fragile and the crying may have been upsetting. Maybe it was because you hated the thought of dirty diapers and spit-up covered burp cloths. Maybe it was because my personality and priorities would change.

Well my dear, you were right. I did change, and no one on God's green earth is more proud that I have changed than myself. Although my growth and change was no excuse, it's the only semi-valid understanding I have for your absence. I outgrew your excuses. They became the only thing consistent about you. I stopped inviting you and trying to make you a part of my life when you weren't fully committed to being a part of it. I grew tired and resentful every time I made plans that you blew off and "forgot." I grew more and more exhausted counting on someone who couldn't bother to make an appearance. Next time you use the excuse of being"sick" or "having homework," please remember to lose the beer in your latest Snapchat story.

The gifts and the cards would always come "next time." My child and I were put on hold, and soon enough there were no more "next times".

I was, and still continue to be, too busy trying to grasp the responsibilities and obstacles that go along with motherhood. I have no more energy left to go to waste on temporary people, such as yourself. I made myself second the instant that I knew I was pregnant; I crammed my brain full of all things "baby girl." It's funny how when you become pregnant as a teen you become alienated because people assume that a mom is all you are now. You lose any aspect of a personality by gaining the title of "Mommy."

You disregarded that, like you, I maintained to stay in school with a kick-ass GPA, started college before you even considered a university, all while raising a tiny human around the clock. You used me as a source of information to supply to others in order to silence your own guilty conscience. Maybe you made the assumption if you played a friendship role that others would find you worthy of friendship. I was this outlet you could "plug into" every now and then, take what you need and then ignore.

I became a poster child for teen pregnancy and parenting. I was asked by any person who could be potentially pregnant about symptoms and sickness; people began making the assumption that I could tell they were pregnant through my "Mom X-ray Vision". I was admirable for wanting to keep my baby, but totally lost in your eyes. I could no longer go out and do things that fit your impulsive schedule. You could gossip about my life and my decisions. You could be seen as valiant for sticking, but not anymore.

I used to be like you. I used to crave the drama that revolved around everyone else's lives other than my own. I used to be magnetized by other's opinions of me—not anymore. If it weren't for social media, my life would be a small blip in time and existence to you. You act like just because you see a comparison photo of my child two years ago opposed to now that you know her. You don't. You weren't a part of it.

You miss out on her laughs, you missed the first time she rolled over, and you missed my excited tears when she took her first steps. You missed her birthdays and her Christmases. You missed her stumbles, falls and tears. You miss the singing that could heal the most broken of hearts. Her hugs are a gift you will never receive. She is brilliant, bold and more than beautiful.

I have to accept you weren't ready to grasp that kind of love. You send passive messages to me every now and then, pretending to have tried or pretending you have so much on your plate and no time for me and my daughter. You missed out on an incredible little being, and I won't understand how someone can make that choice. You lied, and that amount of betrayal cannot be undone. I hope it was all worth it; You are no friend of mine.

TO THE PEOPLE WHO STAYED:

Thank God for you. Thank God for your phone calls and worry that surrounds mine in her time of need. Thank you for the hand holding and hugs when life seems like too much to take. Thank you for changing the smelliest diapers so I could shower. Thank you for coming with us on family adventures and exploration. Thank you for cheering with me when she accomplishes milestones. Thank you for making sure that my little family is more than alright. Thank you for being an active role in watching this precious gift I have received blossom into all she can be. Thank you for all the love we have been given.

You have heard her contagious laugh, watched "Tinker Bell" so many times you can recite every word verbatim—I'm sure that fact is nauseating. You get emotional when thinking about all she will accomplish in her lifetime. You raise me up and help me remember all I have done. You acknowledge that this job is a hard one, even if it's beyond your understanding. You keep me grounded while simultaneously reminding me that the sky isn't even close to my limit. You are worth more to me than you could ever understand. I love you.