When you become a parent, there are things you know and there are things you can’t possibly imagine. You can know the sex of your child, but you won’t know the color of their eyes or the shape of their smile until after they’re born. You can know what you’re going to name them, but you’ll never guess some of the nicknames they’ll be given over time.

And if you’re like me, you can know that your baby will cost exorbitant amounts of money in food, diapers, clothes, doctor’s visits and daycare, but you won’t have any clue where that money will come from.

One thing I definitely knew, long before my daughter was born – I was going to need some help.

When I was trying to prove my readiness to be a mother, I was asked on multiple occasions the tricky question that probably any young, single mother dreads. “How are you going to afford a baby all by yourself?”

I hated that question. As much as I could see the validity of being prepared for the costs, it made me feel like the financial aspect was being weighed as the most important factor. My answer was always the same. She will never be wanting for a place to live that is filled with love and people who care about her.

“As for the rest,” I’d say, “they have assistance programs for that.”

I used WIC from the time I found out I was pregnant until Skye was a year old. It saved me almost $100 a month in formula alone, a cost I’d always wonder how on earth I’d otherwise be able to afford. The truth is, I couldn’t have. Now I get food stamps every month, and Skye and I both use Medicaid for insurance.

Proud is not the word I would use to describe how I feel about needing these assistance programs to give my daughter what she needs. When asked if I really wanted to depend on welfare programs to raise my child, the answer was absolutely not.

But that’s what they’re there for.

People who are eligible for food stamps, officially called the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program or SNAP, must be at or below 130 percent of the Federal Poverty Level. Of those covered, 44 percent are children and two-thirds of those children live in single-parent households.

Now that Skye is getting older and I’ve become slightly more of an adult myself, it’s become apparent that I’m in a much different place in life than I was when I first found out I was pregnant. I’m now a college graduate instead of a student; I’m working more hours and living in a house with an actual yard instead of a one-bedroom apartment.

With Trump and Republicans planning to cut $2.4 billion from the food stamps program alone, I can’t help but wonder: do I still need it bad enough, or am I keeping money from someone who needs it more?

Because I recently moved, I had to go to the office of public assistance to update my information. As I sat in the uncomfortable chair willing my number to be called, I looked around at the other people waiting in equally uncomfortable chairs. An older gentleman with his hat on his knee and his eyes focused in his lap sat to my right, a woman with three bored kids under the age of five took up a row of seats to my left.

I found myself thinking about how that mother would make up the difference if her monthly amount were reduced by $50 or even $100 next year. Would she have to switch from organic milk to the store brand? Would she be able to buy the fresh fruits and vegetables her family loves, or will she have to choose one or the other?

That’s probably the biggest difference the loss of my food stamps money would mean to me. I would be able to feed my child, but the quality of the food we eat would decrease.

So I guess the answer to the question—do I still need food stamps—is yes.

I don’t know exactly how the upcoming budget cuts to the SNAP program will affect me personally. I may not see any difference at all, or I may have to start buying store brand milk after all. I suppose just like the 4.5 million other Americans currently using food stamps, I’ll just have to wait and see.