I always knew I wanted to be a mom. From the moment I held my first baby doll, that dream felt inevitable. Learning that I had been adopted only deepened my longing to have children of my own. The bond between a child and a parent has always held a kind of magic for me, one I craved deeply. Especially after discovering how desperately my parents had wanted children and had gone through adoption to raise me and my siblings. That understanding made me even more empathetic when I met Valerie, a woman whose heart ached with the same longing to become a mother—even though we barely knew each other at first.
My husband and I met in college and instantly felt that undeniable connection. Soon after, life surprised us: I became pregnant just as classes ended in the spring of 2010. We both dropped out to try to make our way on our own, leaning on his family for some support. Our son arrived on February 6, 2010—a little miracle we welcomed with open arms. A year later, on February 7, my husband left for Coast Guard boot camp. We followed him to California for his training, and by Mother’s Day, we discovered I was pregnant again. Stretched thin as we were, it still felt like a gift. That pregnancy culminated in the birth of our daughter on January 23, 2013—a beautiful little Mother’s Day gift we would cherish forever.
Life, however, was not without its heartbreaks. Six months later, on July 2, I miscarried while my husband was on the USCG Polar Star, heading toward the Arctic Circle. They sent him home, but his direct command treated him terribly upon their return. The growing mistreatment wore him down until he found a loophole to leave, and he was honorably discharged in October 2014. We returned to the East Coast to live with his father, where he attempted to go back to school while I cared for the kids.
It was during this period that I truly got to know Valerie. I had met her the year before during a Christmas visit when my father-in-law had flown me and the kids to see family while my husband was away in the Southern Oceans. Valerie had instantly fallen in love with our children, and they adored her in return. She worked for my father-in-law on weekends, and at first, I tried to stay out of her way while picking up tips on how she organized things—after all, my father-in-law is OCD, and I am not. But conversation flowed naturally as we spent time together, and before long, it felt as though we had been friends for years.
Valerie confided in me about her struggles with endometriosis and her desire to have a child. She underwent one last IVF attempt, which sadly failed, but her hope never truly faded. I felt certain she would one day become a mother. Our shared yearning for children created a bond I could sense deep in my soul. I quietly prayed for her as life moved forward and we eventually settled into our own home.
Two years later, we were surprised with another pregnancy. Anxiety shadowed much of it, as I feared another miscarriage. But our second son arrived safely on October 28, 2017. That spring, a house fire revealed just how dilapidated our rental had become. Once again, my father-in-law opened his doors, allowing us to move in with him. It was here that my friendship with Valerie deepened into something extraordinary.
A year later, Valerie shared her plan to adopt. My heart swelled with hope for her until complications arose: the child’s biological father intervened at the last moment, voiding the adoption. I watched her grieve, silently mourning with her. Though she had not physically lost a child, the loss still cut deeply.
Weeks later, once she could return to her work for my father-in-law, we sat on the back porch, she and my husband sharing a smoke. That day marked a turning point. He asked her how she was coping. Tears gathered in her eyes as she admitted the pain had softened but not disappeared. After a few moments of venting frustrations, he jokingly said, “Well, we could always give you one of ours.”
At first, I laughed, thinking he was teasing, but days later, he explained he was serious. The idea stunned me—how had I not thought of this before? Me, the one who had been adopted, now faced the possibility of carrying a child for someone else’s family. After careful conversations about feelings, comparisons, and what it would mean for all involved, we agreed to move forward.
Valerie could hardly contain her emotions when we shared our decision. She rushed home to tell her husband, who immediately supported it. Then the world shifted with COVID-19. What was once surrogacy became adoption, and financial limitations made surrogacy impossible. In March 2020, I had my Nexplanon implant removed, ready to begin this journey, even as some healthcare providers questioned my decision.
I told only my supportive siblings initially, shielding myself from criticism. My parents’ reaction was devastating—they accused me of selfishness and suggested I was doing it for money, though I never asked a cent from Valerie. Their words stung, but my siblings’ encouragement helped me carry on.
By late August, pregnancy was confirmed. The joy and relief I felt were indescribable. Valerie and I anxiously awaited each test together, celebrating every milestone. My husband continued school via distance learning, while homeschooling my children became a new daily rhythm.
In December, I finally met Valerie’s husband, Jamie, and instantly felt his love and dedication. The baby was a boy. At 20 weeks, a high-risk referral caused panic, but a neonatal echo revealed our little boy was healthy. Relief washed over me, and I called Valerie immediately to share the good news.
The months passed quickly. Valerie attended as many ultrasounds as possible, sharing in the excitement of every kick. We worked diligently on legal paperwork, knowing this child would soon join the family he was meant for. On May 26, after enduring weeks of contractions and homeschooling chaos, I was induced. My husband assisted in delivering precious Jacob Prince. Jamie and Valerie were overwhelmed with tears and joy as they held him briefly before he needed NICU care. Later that night, I held him, knowing unequivocally he belonged to them.
A month later, I still feel the strength of that calling—to carry this child so he could join his forever family. The pandemic, with all its challenges, could not diminish the love and hope this experience brought into our lives. My friendship with Valerie and her family is a beacon of light, proof that even in uncertain times, love finds a way—and I am grateful beyond words to share this story with others who may need hope and inspiration.
