“From an early age, I was a planner save, prepare, wait. That’s how my husband Drew and I approached life: we waited until we were financially stable to buy a home, get married, and start a family. At 28, we decided to try for a baby and almost immediately, I was pregnant. I remember the shock in Drew’s voice when I showed him the test: “Are you kidding me?” We laughed and cried together, unaware of what lay ahead.
Our son Jackson arrived at 36 weeks. Though premature, he was strong but needed two weeks in the NICU. I developed pneumonia and needed a blood transfusion. Still, we left together and began life as three.
Two years later, we tried again and conceived right away but this time, the pregnancy ended in miscarriage. I bled on our wedding anniversary, silently grieving through a wedding rehearsal that same day. We clung to each other, united by pain and resilience.
Soon after, we were pregnant again. I felt hopeful. But on August 26, 2015, a concerning call changed everything. I posted a prayer request, believing we might lose this baby too. And we did. On September 9, at 12 weeks, we couldn’t find Elijah’s heartbeat. I remember holding Drew’s hand as “Let It Be” played in the background two days later, and we said goodbye.
Months passed in confusion. We explored adoption, fundraised, and attended classes, while still quietly hoping. After more loss, I felt defeated but in 2017, we were pregnant again. That pregnancy brought our son AJ into the world. Like before, it required a transfusion but we were now a family of four.
Nine months later, we resumed our adoption plans. One profile stood out: the birth mother wanted to name her baby boy Elijah. We took it as a sign. But it wasn’t our match. That “no” hurt more than I expected and it was only the first of many.
For over a year, we said yes to nearly every adoption profile, only to be met with rejection. Emotionally exhausted, I stopped reading them and asked Drew to screen them instead. Then, this past spring, he received a profile of a baby girl born at 33 weeks. With little hope left, he said yes.
The next day, Drew called me outside my classroom: “Kristen,” he said through tears, “We have a daughter.”
