Ever since I can recall, becoming a mother has been my deepest wish. While other girls dreamed about their weddings, I spent my time choosing baby names. When my husband and I started dating, I told him I hoped we would have a big family one day. After we got married, we decided to wait a little while before trying to have children so we could enjoy our time together.
We started trying to have a baby in April 2009, thinking it would happen quickly. But months passed, and then a whole year went by without any success. Finally, we decided to see a doctor. After some tests, we found out my husband had a low sperm count. We were sent to a fertility specialist and tried to stay positive.
Then, in January 2011, everything changed. On my 27th birthday, I had emergency surgery for a burst cyst on my ovary. The doctors also found that I had a serious condition called stage 4 endometriosis. They told us the chance of getting pregnant naturally was very low, less than 3%. One doctor even said we were the “perfect storm,” which didn’t feel very hopeful.
We tried in vitro fertilization (IVF) starting in 2013, but it didn’t work at first. In 2014, we tried again and I got pregnant through a frozen embryo transfer. But after seven weeks, I sadly miscarried. After that painful loss, we decided to take a break to heal. We moved to a new home and slowly began to accept that maybe we wouldn’t have children naturally.
In August 2016, I started teaching kindergarten. One day, I told a little boy in my class that I needed to talk to his dad about his behavior. He gazed at me and said, “He’s not my father.” He’s my caseworker. I don’t have a mom or dad. “I’m in foster care,” he said, and those words lingered in my mind. I wanted to protect him and show him he mattered.
Not long after, he moved to a new home, but I kept thinking about him and praying for him. That night, my husband and I talked about growing our family. I was tired of waiting. I just wanted to be a mom, no matter how. Adoption felt like a good choice, but my heart kept pulling me toward foster care. I asked my husband if he would try fostering. He gave his approval, and by June 2017, we had obtained our foster care license.
Our first foster child was a little boy we called Little B. We cared for him for six months before he went to live with his grandparents. It was hard to say goodbye, but I knew fostering meant loving without promises.
We planned to take a break, but in December 2017, we got a call about twins who had already been moved twice. My heart said yes, and my husband trusted me. The twins arrived wrapped in pink and blue blankets. The caseworker said it would be a short stay, but my husband said, “No matter how long, they are our children now.” That gave me hope.
The twins grew quickly, learning to sit, crawl, walk, and say their first word: “Dada.” At first, we hoped they would return to their parents. But soon, we learned they would be adopted. In January 2019, the court gave us permission to adopt them.
On Adoption Day in April 2019, surrounded by family and friends, we celebrated becoming a family. Our little boy wore a bow tie, and our daughter wore a pretty dress. Looking into their eyes, I knew everything we went through was worth it. They’ve been ours since the day they came into our lives. We are finally a family.
