When we got married, I never thought we’d be thrown into something so painful so soon. We were barely eleven months into our marriage when I was diagnosed with endometriosis and a bunch of autoimmune issues. The doctor told us having biological kids might never happen. I was only twenty-five. I remember feeling like the air got knocked out of me. We weren’t even ready to start a family yet, but suddenly, that’s all I could think about.
Our marriage was still new, and already we were facing grief that most couples don’t face for years. We both handled it differently. There were so many nights I’d sit out on the porch long after my husband went to bed, just crying until I couldn’t anymore. I’d ask God “why?” over and over. I didn’t know if our marriage was strong enough to make it through that kind of pain. But somehow, we did. Counseling helped, and slowly, we found our way back to each other.
Over the next few years, my body went through hell, surgeries, hormone shots, pills, blood tests, and more negative pregnancy tests than I can count. Each month hurt a little worse than the last. Eventually, we went to a specialist in Chicago who looked at immune factors and infertility. She ran all these tests, and when she finally sat us down, she told us our chances weren’t good. I held it together until we left her office, and then I cried the whole way home. But as strange as it sounds, I also felt relief. I finally had permission to stop hurting myself trying to make something happen that just wasn’t.
On that same drive home, I looked at my husband and said, “I’m ready to adopt.” Adoption had always been something we wanted. We’d talked about it when we were dating. It wasn’t a backup plan, it was just part of who we were.
A few months later, our home study was done, and we were officially waiting. They told us it could take years to be matched. We were ready to wait. But three months later, everything changed. One random morning, I woke up and for some reason decided to take a pregnancy test. I had promised myself I wouldn’t do that anymore. But something just told me to. And there it was, two pink lines. For the first time in my life, two pink lines. I dropped to my knees and sobbed.
An hour later, my phone rang. It was our adoption agency. They told us we’d been matched with a baby girl due in three weeks. I just remember sitting there, shaking, trying to take it all in. In one hour, I became a mom twice, one baby growing inside me and one waiting to meet us.
We brought our daughter home and for a week, it was everything we’d dreamed of. Then came the call that broke me all over again. Her birth parents had changed their minds. I remember holding her and falling to the floor, crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. Saying goodbye to her was the most painful thing I’ve ever done.
But even in that heartbreak, life kept moving. A few months later, our miracle baby was born. When I held him in my arms, everything else faded. We named him Noah, “rest, new beginnings.” It was perfect.
A year later, we got another call. A baby boy had just been born and needed a family. We didn’t hesitate. We named him Levi, which means “joined together.” Now we had two beautiful boys.
And somehow, God wasn’t done yet. In 2021, we became foster parents. The day we got the call for a baby boy who needed a home, we said yes without thinking twice. Now I’m a mom of three little boys under three. It’s loud, messy, exhausting, and the most beautiful kind of chaos.
Looking back, I can see how every heartbreak led us here. Infertility felt like the end of my story, but it wasn’t. It was the beginning of something better than I could’ve ever written myself.
