As long as I can remember, I’ve always had a heart for adoption. I didn’t know how many children would join my life or where they would be born, but deep in my soul, I always knew it was my calling. I come from a family of nine children, five of whom are adopted, so adoption has always felt like second nature to me. It’s part of who I am. When I met my husband at 16, I matter-of-factly told him I planned to adopt children someday. Thankfully, he was fully on board, and we continued our fun, carefree years of dating.
We married after four years together, excited to start a family of our own. Naively, we assumed we would have a baby within the year. Weeks turned into months, months into years, and we knew something wasn’t right. Countless hours in doctors’ offices and at specialists led us to a fertility clinic. Three long, emotionally draining months of treatments ended in disappointment. We were left depleted, beaten down, and feeling utterly empty.
Even though I had always dreamed of adopting, I had also longed to carry a child of my own. Hearing that our chance of conceiving was less than 1%—technically .001%—was shattering. We took time to grieve, leaning on each other, our family, and our friends. Slowly, we picked ourselves up and began pursuing another dream: adoption. Exciting as it was, the journey would soon prove just as exhausting as it was rewarding.
I’ll only briefly touch on our first adoption, as it is a deeply sacred and personal part of my story, but it shaped me profoundly. After three years of longing, we adopted our first daughter. She was everything we had dreamed of—an angel in every sense of the word. Placed in my arms just hours after her birth, I knew instantly that I was her mother. Life felt perfect, complete, and full of joy. I had finally become the mother I had always hoped to be. I had even prepared my body for months to breastfeed her, and she took to it immediately. I was on cloud nine. It felt almost too good to be true.
Then, just six days into our newborn bliss, we received the most devastating call of our lives. Her biological mother wanted her back. I don’t remember much else beyond the words themselves. The floor seemed to fall away beneath me. I wanted to cry and vomit at the same time, but I couldn’t. I froze. That day became the hardest of my life.
BC adoption laws left us no choice but to comply. We drove four long, agonizing hours to do the unthinkable: hand our sweet baby over, never to hold her again. To this day, I don’t know how I survived it.
The months that followed were a blur. I barely left the house, and my husband took time off to grieve with me. We felt shattered beyond repair, with no hope of climbing out of the darkness. But I believe that after every storm comes a rainbow. Our rainbow came in the form of our son, Sawyer.
After months of grieving, we cautiously began the adoption process again. Vulnerable and wary, we dared to hope. Within a few months, we got the call that a birth mother had chosen us. Our excitement was overwhelming. The baby was due later that year, and we flew to meet the incredible woman carrying our son. We fell in love instantly, and to this day, we maintain a deep and loving relationship with her.
Sawyer was born 4.5 months before coming home to us. Although I can’t share all the details, the months of waiting were excruciating. Every day, we lived for the emails, photos, and videos of our son. Our hearts ached to hold him, to kiss him, to be with him constantly. The anticipation of the court date weighed on us heavily, and I remember pacing the house, heart pounding, as we waited for THE call.
When the phone finally rang, I remember hearing two words that changed everything: “He’s yours.” I didn’t need to hear anything else. Less than 18 hours later, we were on a plane to Florida to meet our sweet son. Interestingly, that call came exactly one year from the day we lost our first daughter—a poignant, redemptive coincidence that felt like God’s hand at work.
Seeing Sawyer for the first time was overwhelming. Tears streamed down my face as I held him, and in that moment, he healed me in ways I never thought possible. He filled a gaping hole in my heart and gave me purpose. He made me whole again.
The following year was a return to normalcy in motherhood, yet our hearts remained open. We continued trying for another child, holding onto the hope of a miracle. To our astonishment, after six long years, I became pregnant. Our sweet Georgia was born on the Fourth of July, a day so full of hope and joy it will forever be etched in my memory. Her birth was everything I had ever imagined.
A little over a year later, we felt our family still wasn’t complete and returned to adoption, this time with our hearts set on Japan. Seven years prior, I had a vivid dream of holding a small Asian baby, a vision so real it changed the course of my life. When the call finally came, less than three months later, we flew to Japan and held our precious Noa at just one month old. Her name, meaning “my love,” fit her perfectly. Holding her in my arms was déjà vu realized—my dream finally fulfilled.
Life had one more surprise in store. Upon returning home with Noa, we discovered I was pregnant again. Hallie was born on December 8th, just ten and a half months after Noa, making them Irish twins. I won’t lie—welcoming a 5-year-old, a 2-year-old, a 10.5-month-old, and a newborn terrified me. But as chaotic as it was, it was also beautiful, joyful, and so, so worth it.
Motherhood has tested me in ways I never imagined. There have been heartbreaks, exhaustion, fear, and stress—but also redemption, love, hope, and joy. My journey has been far from ordinary, but each moment has led me straight to the children I was meant to raise. My story is not one of pity—it is a testament to the resilience of the human heart and the extraordinary capacity of a mother’s love. Through darkness, we can always wait for our rainbow. And for me, that rainbow has four times over transformed my life and made me the mother I was always meant to be.
