The first time I ever felt a physical desire to be pregnant was during a yoga class my freshman year. As I lay in the final resting pose, my hands resting gently on my belly, I felt the slow rise and fall of my breath and was struck by the thought: My body can create life. It was a feeling that came out of nowhere, filling me completely and then, just as quickly, it was gone. I’ve never felt it again.
Over the years, I tried to want that feeling back. I wanted to want pregnancy to feel that longing everyone said would come naturally. But every time I imagined being pregnant, all I felt was anxiety and emptiness. After I married my husband, Daniel, in 2016, I fell seriously ill and was eventually diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome, or PCOS. The doctors said it could make having children difficult, maybe even impossible without treatment. We agreed that children were a blessing, however they came to us through birth, adoption, or foster care. Still, we decided we’d wait until we were ready.
That afternoon, I walked through the hospital with my husband and mother-in-law, car seat in hand, toward the NICU. Most people get months to prepare for parenthood. I had minutes. Behind a curtain lay a tiny four-pound baby boy with a head full of dark hair and the sweetest little lips. The moment I saw him, something inside me lit up. It was that same warmth I’d felt years ago — but this time, it stayed. For the first time, I wanted to be a mother.
We named him Samson a family name, fitting for a boy with such strength and hair to match. From that day, we threw ourselves into the world of foster care. We rushed through classes, home inspections, and endless paperwork because we had a reason now him. We learned quickly that fostering drew curiosity, judgment, and a lot of unsolicited opinions. Some asked if we’d even “tried to have our own kids.” Others warned us not to “get too attached.” But we ignored them. We knew love was the whole point.
After weeks of waiting, we finally got licensed and while we waited for Samson’s official placement, we welcomed another baby, a little girl we called Rae. Within months, we’d gone from no children to two babies under three months old. Life was chaos and magic all at once. When Rae returned to her biological family, I thought my heart might break in two. We’d rocked her, soothed her, loved her and then had to let her go. But seeing her mother’s joy reminded me this was what foster care was about: restoration, not possession.
Samson’s case eventually led to adoption, and after 19 long months, he officially became our son. I still think of his biological mother often. I pray she finds peace knowing her baby is safe, loved, and thriving.
There’s a saying that often gets misquoted: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” To me, it means that the family we build by love and promise can be stronger than the one made by birth alone.
I no longer feel guilty for not wanting to experience pregnancy. Our children are already out there, scattered like tiny miracles, waiting to be found. They may not share our blood, but they carry all our love and that’s more than enough.
