She dreamed of a crowded table; life set the places in its own time, through medicine, adoption, loss, and surprise, and she learned that “family” is not how fast they arrive, but how fiercely they’re loved when they do. As a kid, Erin was the neighborhood babysitter everyone wanted. She adored children and imagined a noisy house filled with cousins and Sunday dinners like her grandmother’s. She married in 1996, finished college with her husband, and waited to start a family. Her cycles were irregular, sometimes only one period a year, but she brushed it off.
Birth control didn’t agree with her, so she stopped and decided to trust God with whatever came. Three years in, they started trying. She tried natural supplements her mother-in-law swore by, swallowing handfuls of pills for two and a half years with no change. Those were painful years; pregnancy announcements felt like constant reminders of what wasn’t happening. She prayed, pleaded, and once imagined Jesus carrying her grief to God, only to hear, “Not yet.” The answer hurt, but it also steadied her.
A fertility specialist finally named the problem: PCOS. Erin learned her hormones were out of balance, and ovulation rarely happened. They tried Clomid twice with no luck. A third try, paid for by her in-laws, worked. She became pregnant, and even with a move overseas on the horizon, they went to Thailand as planned. Her care there was reassuring, and their son, Abraham, arrived healthy. He felt like a miracle.
People told her, “Now you’ll get pregnant easily.” Hoping that was true, she stopped nursing at six months to try again, a choice she later wished she’d handled differently. Years passed. More meds, shots in the abdomen, carefully timed cycles, still nothing. She took a break, then worked with a functional medicine doctor; minor improvements came and went. The disappointment seeped into everything. Living in China, she fell into depression, skipped class, hid in parks, and suffered daily headaches from stress. She and her husband made the hard decision to return to the U.S.
Before leaving, they began an adoption process. Erin wanted a sibling for Abraham; her husband felt it was also a calling. Back in the U.S., their daughter, Eden, joined the family at ten months old. Erin found peace in their family of four and let go, at least outwardly, of the dream of more biological children.
Her OB wanted to put her on progesterone for health reasons, but Erin looked for another path. She found an herbal practitioner focused on healing, and her cycle slowly returned. She conceived naturally and miscarried at around ten weeks. It was crushing after ten years of trying. She continued the treatments and, a year and a half later, became pregnant again. 2014, Ezekiel was born, eleven years younger than Abraham and five years younger than Eden. Erin was 38 and deeply grateful for this late gift.
They never used birth control, assuming pregnancy was unlikely without help. Then, in 2022, at 46, Erin found out she was expecting again. Her youngest had been praying for a baby, but even Erin told him it probably wouldn’t happen at their age. Shock turned into questions, why now and not when they were younger and begging? Slowly, she accepted that this child had a purpose too. Maybe he needed parents with a little more mileage and wisdom.
Through all of it, Erin learned how to protect her heart. She permitted herself to skip gatherings that centered on pregnancy and newborns. She leaned on prayer and borrowed faith from friends when she couldn’t. She let her feelings move through her instead of bottling them up. For loved ones supporting someone with infertility, she found that quiet presence and open-ended questions helped more than advice or fixes.
Erin still loves the idea of a big family, but she just learned it might look different from what she imagined. She’s endlessly thankful for the children she has: a son born in Thailand, a daughter brought home through adoption, a second son after a long wait, and a late-in-life surprise she never saw coming. She knows infertility can be lonely and misunderstood, and she hopes her story offers comfort to those still waiting.
