Growing up, I never imagined what my wedding would look like, or even thought much about having my own children. But one thing I always knew deep in my heart, I was going to adopt someday. It was never just a dream. It felt like a calling.
When I started dating Ben, I asked him early on, “Would you be open to adoption one day?” I needed to know. I knew it was something I couldn’t walk away from. Thankfully, he agreed.
After we got married, I wanted to adopt first. It felt like the right thing. But Ben didn’t feel ready, and after many talks, we decided to try for a baby. To our surprise, I got pregnant quickly. I had always pictured adoption as the beginning of my motherhood journey, so I was confused. But I let it go, prayed, and trusted that the right time would come.
We had our first daughter, and a few months later, we were expecting again. Our youngest two were barely more than a year apart, and life felt busy and full. Sometime after that, I went through a miscarriage, but later I became pregnant again with our son. I kept praying for the child I had always dreamed of, the one we would adopt. But now I understand why it didn’t happen sooner. I had to grow first. We both did.
Years passed, and then one night at dinner, Ben reached across the table and said, “I think we should adopt.” I couldn’t believe it. I had waited years for that moment. I started searching for agencies right away and found one. We rushed through the forms, interviews, and home visits, feeling like our baby was already out there, just waiting to come home.
Months later, I got a call, an expectant mother had chosen us. And she was due the next day. I was shaking, overwhelmed with emotion, and somehow still had to act fast. We flew to Houston and waited.
She had the baby in her arms when we saw her at the hospital for the first time. Her son. I didn’t feel like his mom yet. She loved him so deeply. But she welcomed us, let us hold him, and slowly let us into her heart. We spent hours with her and the baby over the next two days.
When the time came, she chose adoption. I cried, not out of joy, but heartbreak for her. Watching her hand over her child broke me in a way I never expected. I held Miller in my arms and cried for her, for him, for all of us.
A few days later, we were cleared to bring him home. We flew back, now a family of six. As our other kids met their new brother, I knew, this was exactly how it was meant to be.
Adoption is love. It’s sacrifice. And it’s the most beautiful kind of pain. Miller’s birth mom gave him the chance for a different life, and for that, I will always be thankful.
