Read the following text about Meg.
Meg Stevens, London
I’m a teenager, seventeen years old. My teenage years haven’t really been as good as they could have been; they are over now because I have a baby daughter and I’m a single mother. By the time my six-month-old daughter is able to look after herself, I’ll be thirty-something, and too old to do the things that I am now missing out on. I would love to go clubbing and be like all the other teenagers who are enjoying themselves. Unfortunately, I’ll never have these things, but I’m the one to be blamed: it’s all my fault. I should have taken something to prevent me getting pregnant. I got pregnant by my first boyfriend – just imagine. He didn’t want the baby, but I wouldn’t have an abortion. I was terribly scared. My boyfriend wouldn’t marry me, of course. He wanted to be free, and above all, his parents disapproved. He simply said: “I don’t want to listen to a screaming baby all day long. There is more to life than wasting my time on a baby.” I got used to the idea after a while, and I couldn’t wait to put the clothes I’d bought on the baby. My boyfriend didn’t care at all – he bought her nothing whatsoever. I never really thought about what it would be like to stay in every night while I was expecting; I was so used to going out whenever I wanted. She’s already been born, and I love her, but I do wish that I were still free. Before I got pregnant, I was still going to school – I was in my last year. I hated being a pupil, but now I think it's a pity that I haven’t done my A-levels yet. I wish I could do it right now. Maybe I’ll never pass them, and I've always wanted to go to university; I’d like to become a doctor – some day. If I had the chance to go back in time, I would, and I’d make sure I didn’t get pregnant the second time around. I would have a baby after I got married, but I’d want to be at least twenty-six years old.