All her life, Joni had imagined herself as a mother. The kind who packed lunches, kissed scraped knees, and filled her house with laughter. Motherhood was supposed to come naturally, or so she thought. It was part of the plan—fall in love, get married, and grow a family. Infertility was something she thought happened to other people, something she might read about but never live through.
When Joni married Joe in 2010, their life felt like a dream. They were young, ambitious, and deeply in love. Joe was working toward medical school while Joni built her career as a cosmetologist. They spent evenings out to dinner, late nights watching movies, and lazy weekends wrapped in the comfort of being newlyweds. Then, in February 2011, the surprise changed everything, they were expecting their first baby. It was sudden but magical. They bought a crib almost immediately, swept up in the excitement of building their family. In November, their daughter Gracie arrived, tiny and perfect, filling their world with joy neither of them had ever known.
They wanted more children, siblings close in age so the kids could grow up as best friends. But a year after Gracie’s birth, something shifted. Joni began to gain weight rapidly, and no diet or exercise seemed to help. The frustration built as doctor after doctor brushed her off, suggesting she needed to work harder at the gym. Deep down, she knew something else was wrong. It took years of appointments and self-advocacy before she was finally diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome a condition that made both weight loss and pregnancy difficult. The diagnosis was both a relief and a heartbreak.
The journey to motherhood suddenly became a maze. Years passed, filled with trial, error, and persistence. By the time Gracie was five, Joni had finally found a way to manage her PCOS and began to hope again. Her gynecologist started her on Clomid, a medication that could help her conceive. But month after month, nothing happened. Her body wouldn’t respond. Eventually, Joni and Joe made the decision that would define the next chapter of their story; they turned to IVF.
The process was overwhelming. They met with specialists, learned how to give injections, and made countless 160-mile round trips to the nearest fertility clinic. September 9, 2017, marked the first day of hormone shots. Joe became an expert at giving them, his calm hands balancing Joni’s nervous laughter. The days blurred into weeks of monitoring, scans, and prayers until, finally, it was time for the egg retrieval. Eleven eggs were collected. Ten fertilized. And then began the longest wait of all. The call came on a quiet Sunday. Only two embryos had made it. Just two. The news hit like a wave, heavy and crushing. Joni cried for days, terrified that their chances were slipping away. But when the tears settled, she chose faith. Maybe, she thought, two was all they needed.
Weeks later, the transfer took place. Both embryos were implanted, and the moment felt almost sacred. Years of heartbreak, endless needles, and prayers led to that one still moment in the doctor’s office when hope became tangible. Then came the waiting, the torturous two-week wait to see if it had worked. Joni told herself not to test early, but she couldn’t resist. One night, unable to sleep, she took a test and handed it to Joe. When he revealed the result, her world burst open; it was positive. She was pregnant.
That joy quickly turned into cautious hope. Every ache and flutter made her anxious. The pregnancy felt fragile, like a glass ornament she had to protect at all costs. A few weeks later, an ultrasound revealed the miracle they hadn’t dared to imagine: two tiny heartbeats, twins. Joni wept with relief, gratitude, and disbelief. The pregnancy wasn’t easy, but it was filled with wonder. Feeling two little lives moving inside her was unlike anything she had known. Gracie pressed her small hands against her mother’s belly, giggling at the thought of a baby brother and sister growing there. The family did a confetti cannon gender reveal, pink and blue sparkles filling the air, marking the beginning of a new chapter.
At 35 weeks, contractions began. At first, Joni brushed them off, but as the hours passed, she knew it was time. The hospital confirmed she was in labor. Her body worked hard for hours, but when complications arose, the doctors made the call for a C-section. The operating room was cold, bright, and tense, but everything else faded when the first cry came. Baby Elle arrived healthy and strong. Moments later came Luca, smaller and quieter, whisked to the NICU before Joni could hold him. But soon enough, both babies were in her arms, warm, breathing, alive. The years of struggle melted into gratitude.
Infertility had broken her down, reshaped her, and rebuilt her. IVF had tested her faith but also given her the greatest gift imaginable. Now, with her three children, Gracie, Elle, and Luca, Joni looks back and sees not just the pain, but the purpose. The journey was long and messy, but it taught her that miracles often bloom in the hardest soil.
