The path wasn’t straight, but it led us home—and love filled the house just the same. Jennifer always pictured a noisy house and a full table. She married her best friend, Woody, in April 2013, and they started trying right away. Six months passed with no two lines. Her doctor urged patience, but her gut said something was off. Tests showed nothing wrong. That “unexplained” space filled with hope, so they tried IUIs. Three failed. Tears, bills, empty hands. A fertility specialist found no cause either. Two more IUIs failed, and the joy drained out of trying.
She grieved what she thought life would look like. Baby announcements stung. She pulled back to steady herself. Then she did what she does best: gather facts and make a plan. She and Woody talked through every path, IVF, surrogacy, adoption. Their hearts kept pointing to China. They said yes. The paperwork was heavy and the waiting harder, but when they were matched with a little boy named Wesley, everything else went quiet. Traveling to China felt huge for two small-town Georgians, but the first moment she saw him, Jennifer knew. They visited his orphanage, met the caregiver he loved, and felt humbled to bring him home. In those first months, she began to understand the shape of her story: had she gotten pregnant, she would never have met her son.
Ten months later, the impossible, she was late. Three tests turned positive. Joy burst open, then vanished at the eight-week ultrasound. No heartbeat. The loss scraped old wounds raw. After time to heal, they tried again. Nothing. The desire for a bigger family lingered, so they restarted the China process. Then the world shut down. China adoptions paused and stayed closed. After a long wait, they shifted to Colombia. The goal was the same: make room for one more child, wherever that child lived. Now they are in the waiting, preparing their home and hearts for the next yes. Adoption changed Jennifer’s life in ways she didn’t expect. She became an advocate without meaning to, answering questions, telling the whole truth about the costs and beauty, the forms and the feelings.
She found a community of other adoptive parents who trade stories and support. Opening up about infertility and miscarriage came later. She had felt ashamed and alone, but the numbers told a different story: many couples face infertility, many women experience loss. Sharing lifted the weight. It also showed her how much a village matters, friends, family, and, most of all, a spouse walking the same road.
Through it all, Jennifer and Woody kept choosing each other. They poured energy into their marriage, spoke honestly about fear and hope, and celebrated what they had even while asking for more. They leaned into faith and timing they didn’t control. They cheered Wesley’s firsts, first day of school, first backpack, first belly laugh of the morning, and saved the baby names they once whispered, now used with love in other small ways. They learned that a family can be built by birth and by paper, by waiting and by showing up. Jennifer no longer measures worth by what a body can or can’t do. She is not broken. She is a mom, a partner, a steady hand for others navigating infertility and adoption. She is stronger than she was, clearer about what matters, and grateful for the life that grew where she didn’t expect it.
As Jennifer looks back, she sees how every heartbreak carved space for something greater. The unanswered prayers, the years of trying, and the nights of quiet tears all brought her to a life richer than the one she once imagined. Her journey taught her that motherhood isn’t just about giving birth, it’s about giving love, endlessly and without condition. Wesley’s laughter fills their home, proof that families are built by faith, patience, and open hearts, not biology alone. Jennifer no longer waits for life to go as planned; she embraces what arrives. Because sometimes, the most beautiful stories begin where expectations end.
