I was only six weeks old when doctors discovered a serious issue with my ovaries during an ultrasound. They weren’t connected properly, and the decision was made to remove them completely. At 13, I found out I’d never be able to carry children. That moment changed me. I quietly began learning about adoption, keeping that dream tucked away while carrying the fear of having to someday tell a partner I couldn’t have biological children.
Then I met Jason, a single dad of two amazing boys. There was an instant spark between us, and I could tell he was unlike anyone I’d met before. Before we got engaged, I finally shared the secret I had told only a few people in my life. I cried through every word.
Jason looked me in the eyes, held my face, and said something I’ll never forget: “It doesn’t matter how our children come to us. They’ll be ours.”
Last June, we were officially approved to adopt. Instead of going through a traditional agency, many of which seemed questionable and incredibly expensive, we decided to do things differently. We built a social media presence: a Facebook page, an Instagram account, and a profile on adoption.com. We ran targeted ads and waited.
Most of the people who reached out were scams. But then, a message came through Facebook from a young woman in Missouri. She said her friend was pregnant and looking for a family. We spoke for over an hour and continued talking over the next month. But she never provided proof of pregnancy. Just as I was ready to trust her, Jason insisted we renew our adoption.com profile one last time.
The very next day, a new message came. Another expectant mom had been following us and wanted to meet. Two days later, we were sitting nervously in a diner when she walked in, very pregnant and glowing. She let me feel the baby kick, showed us his ultrasound, and asked if we would adopt her baby. Jason and I broke down in tears, right in the middle of the diner.
Three weeks later, on October 30, 2017, our son Andy was born. I was the first to hold him, pressing my lips to his little hands. Our hearts overflowed with love.
But our story didn’t end there.
The first expectant mother called us in January. She said she’d changed her mind about the other family, she believed her baby boy was meant for us. Six weeks later, we flew to Missouri and met her the night before she gave birth. On that day, we watched as Ellis was born. Jason cut the cord. I held him first.
Two newborns, just months apart and both ours.
Later that year, we flew Ellis’s older brother, Sean, to visit. That 10-day visit turned into a whole summer, then a school year. Now he’s thriving, playing football, and living with us. We never expected to grow from two boys to five in under a year. I didn’t give birth to any of them, but they’re all mine. Our family’s foundation is love, not genetics. And that love holds us together every single day.
