Andrea still remembers the day her world changed forever. She was twenty-two when she met the man who would become her husband. They met in college, two people from different states who never expected their lives to intertwine so deeply. After graduation, he moved to New Jersey, proposed as they unpacked boxes in their first apartment, and by 2006 they were married. Life felt full of promise, the kind of beginning that makes you believe everything is possible.
A year later, Andrea found out she was pregnant. The due date was close to her mother’s birthday, which felt symbolic. Her mom was calm, patient, everything Andrea hoped to be. She prayed her baby would inherit those same qualities. But that pregnancy ended in heartbreak. After spotting one night, Andrea knew something was wrong. She lost the baby and fell into a grief that words could never explain. For months, she blamed herself, convinced her weight or something she had done caused it. No one told her that miscarriage happens to so many women, that it wasn’t her fault. She carried that silence like a shadow.
Then, just after Christmas, Andrea found out she was pregnant again. This was her rainbow baby, her light after the storm. She did everything by the book this time. No caffeine, no soft cheese, no lunch meat, no shortcuts. She read every pregnancy blog, followed every rule, and filled her heart with cautious hope. When the doctor told her she was having a boy, she smiled through tears. She had always wanted to be a “boy mom.” Her son, Adam, was due on September 21, 2009. Labor didn’t go as planned. After a long, exhausting induction, she gave birth late the next night. It was a difficult delivery, but when she heard him cry, everything else disappeared. Then her husband noticed something unusual about Adam’s leg. The doctors rushed in, students filled the room, and Andrea barely had a moment to hold her newborn before he was taken to the NICU.
When the doctor returned, the news was confusing. Adam’s skin was marbled purple and black down one side of his body. No one seemed to know what was happening. Photos were sent to specialists, and soon a diagnosis came back: Cutis Marmorata Telangiectatica Congenita, or CMTC. Andrea had never heard of it. Neither had most of the doctors. That night, she barely slept, reading everything she could find online. Fewer than 500 cases had ever been reported in the world. Her baby was rare, and that both terrified and amazed her.
For three days, Adam stayed in the NICU while doctors tested his brain, heart, kidneys, and eyes. Each test returned normal, and Andrea clung to that word like a lifeline. When she finally brought him home, she was given instructions on how to care for his fragile skin. It wasn’t what she expected from motherhood, but she learned quickly. She changed his dressings, watched his every move, and loved him with a fierceness, leaving no room for fear. As Adam grew, he surprised everyone. He met milestones, laughed easily, and didn’t let his CMTC hold him back. Andrea joined the CMTC-OVM organization, later becoming part of the board. She met other families with children like Adam and found comfort in the community. For years, she educated doctors who had never heard of CMTC, repeating that same line, “Most people haven’t.”
There were challenging moments, like when an emergency room doctor implied Adam’s markings were injuries. Andrea had to explain, again, that this was simply his skin, his difference, his beauty. Her biggest fear was that other kids would make fun of him, that he would one day hate what made him unique. But that fear faded as Adam grew into himself. Today, Adam is a bright boy who loves math, chess, and Harry Potter. He has tried taekwondo, baseball, and even the oboe. He may have been born with CMTC, but he lives without limits. Andrea still calls him her rainbow baby, the proof that life can bloom again after loss. His skin tells a story that few understand, but his heart tells one that everyone can.
Andrea often looks at her son and thinks about that night in the hospital, the fear, the uncertainty, the endless questions. Now, she knows the answer she was searching for back then. Yes, he will be okay—more than okay. He will shine. He will teach others about love, difference, and strength. And that, she knows, is the real miracle.
