I’ve always known I wanted to be a mom. From the moment I held my first baby doll, that desire never left me. Learning I was adopted only strengthened it. I understood, more than ever, the magic and love between a parent and child. My own parents had wanted children so badly, and when they adopted me and my siblings, it left an imprint on my heart. That’s why, when I met Valerie, my heart immediately connected with her struggles to become a mom, even though we barely knew each other.
My husband and I met in college and felt instantly that we were meant to be. Our oldest came sooner than planned I got pregnant shortly after classes ended in the spring of 2010. We both dropped out and tried to make it work on our own, with some help from his family. Our son was born in February, and a year later, my husband left for Coast Guard boot camp. We followed him to California for training, and that Mother’s Day, we discovered we were pregnant again. Nine months later, our daughter was born. Life was full, fast, and beautiful.
Things weren’t always easy. I miscarried six months later while my husband was away at sea. He was sent home, but the way his command treated him afterward strained us both. By October 2014, he was honorably discharged, and we moved back east to live with his dad. I watched the kids while he tried to go back to school. That’s when we truly met Valerie. She immediately fell in love with our kids, and they with her. Over time, our casual conversations grew into friendship. She confided in me about her struggles with endometriosis and IVF. My heart ached for her. I prayed silently she’d get the family she longed for.
Two years later, I became pregnant with our third. It was a surprise, and I spent much of the pregnancy anxious about losing another child. When spring came, our rental suffered a house fire, and we moved back with my father-in-law. Living under the same roof again, my friendship with Valerie grew stronger. She shared she was planning to adopt a baby girl. But the child’s father intervened last minute, and she lost the chance. Watching her mourn reminded me of my miscarriage. Though the circumstances were different, the grief was real, and I held it quietly in my heart for her.
One afternoon, while sitting on the back porch with Valerie and my husband, he jokingly said, “Well, we could always give you one of ours.” Days later, he revealed he wasn’t joking. My heart stopped. I had been adopted myself how could I not have seen this as a possibility? We talked it through, worries and hopes, and agreed to move forward. When we shared the plan with Valerie, she couldn’t decide whether to cry or celebrate. Her husband quickly agreed too, and together, we entered this journey with hope.
By August 2020, I was pregnant. Only my siblings knew at first, and Valerie and I anxiously followed every step. Despite COVID restrictions and high-risk appointments, we stayed connected, sharing every ultrasound, every kick. Finally, in May, the baby was born. Jacob Prince arrived strong and screaming, immediately slipping into the family he was meant to be. Holding him that night, I felt only gratitude. He wasn’t mine he was Valerie’s but carrying him had been my calling.
Through the fear, the distance learning, the uncertainty of a pandemic, and the emotional weight of surrogacy, I had never felt so alive, so connected to another family. Valerie, Jamie, and Jacob brought light into a dark time. And I realized something profound: love isn’t measured by biology. It’s measured by heart, by intention, and by showing up. I will forever be grateful for the trust, the friendship, and the hope we created together.
