My husband, Matt, and I met while visiting Nashville in 2011. He asked for my number that night, and from then on, we were rarely apart. From the beginning, we talked about how deeply we valued family and dreamed of starting our own soon after our wedding in March 2014.
After a full year of trying to conceive, we finally said, “It’s time to see a doctor.” Two years passed in a blur of appointments: multiple specialists, surgery for endometriosis, seven IUIs, and three rounds of IVF. Eventually, we were handed the diagnosis of “Unexplained Infertility.” Hearing there was no clear reason — no answer to fix — was devastating. After yet another failed IUI, Matt gently said, “As long as we have each other, we’ll still have a good life, just the two of us.” That quiet moment planted the first seed of adoption in my heart.
Soon afterward, it felt like adoption kept showing up everywhere. Friends were sharing their stories, and one high school friend described signs that kept nudging them forward. I realized I was seeing signs, too. Before our final IVF round, Matt surprised me by saying, “If this doesn’t work, maybe we should adopt.” Hearing him say that gave me peace. No matter what happened, we had a path to parenthood.
Right before my last embryo transfer, I dreamed about the son we would adopt. Deep down, I sensed we were nearing the end of our IVF journey and might soon be grieving our final embryos. That same feeling would return whenever we presented our profile to expectant moms of girls — something I didn’t mention to Matt until the day we finally met our little boy. I truly believe adoption had always been meant for us.
On August 13, 2017, our adoption journey officially began — just one day after learning that our final transfer had failed and the day before my 30th birthday. We were sad, but surprisingly hopeful, because our next chapter was already forming. I reached out to my friend Sarah, who connected us with Leah at Christian Adoption Consultants. Leah patiently guided us through the private adoption process. After completing our home study and profile book, we were ready and active with several agencies, waiting and praying.
As we started presenting, I leaned heavily on Leah. With every “no,” she reminded us it was simply “not yet.” On the morning of Matt’s birthday, another situation slipped away, and my heart sank. Minutes later, a new packet arrived — a baby boy born 13 days earlier, 10 weeks premature, still in the NICU. Without hesitation, we presented. Two days later, while driving to the mountains, the agency called with the words we’d waited for: we had been chosen. Telling our parents they were already grandparents was one of the sweetest moments of our lives.
We drove to the hospital, nervous but exhilarated. After scrubbing into the NICU, a dietician — who happened to know one of my closest friends — walked us back to our son. At just three pounds, three ounces, he was tiny and perfect. He was already off oxygen, regulating his temperature, and learning to eat. Matt proudly fed him his first bottle. Later that day, signing paperwork, we were asked his name — and suddenly both knew: he was Duke.
We were blessed with a room at the Ronald McDonald House, easing the stress of a long NICU stay. Volunteers cooked dinner, families shared stories, and every evening we went back to hold Duke. When Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke” played in the store one night, it felt like God smiling on us. The next day, we met Duke’s birth mom. I had been terrified, but our conversation was tender, honest, and filled with love. I finally understood why open adoption matters.
Doctors expected Duke to stay until his due date, but our tiny fighter surprised everyone. After only four weeks, he was ready to leave the NICU — though legal paperwork meant remaining nearby a bit longer. We brought him “home” to Ronald McDonald House, surrounded by kindness. Friends arrived, Matt traveled briefly for work, and his sister helped until we were cleared to return home.
Our families welcomed Duke with balloons, banners, and endless joy. In July, our loved ones showered us with gifts, and in November, the adoption was finalized over the phone — a quiet yet magical moment of relief. Life felt beautifully full.
After Duke’s first birthday, we felt called toward fostering. Meeting his birth mom changed our hearts, and we believed we could support reunification when it was possible. In January 2020, our first placement arrived. Duke embraced being a big brother to each child who stayed with us. We’ve fostered four boys, celebrating every reunion while also grieving the goodbyes.
Today, we plan to continue fostering with open hands and open hearts. We hope to adopt again someday — maybe through foster care, maybe privately — trusting that, just like before, the right child will find their way to our family when the time is right.
