It’s hard to believe that in just over three years, my life transformed from a family of one into a bustling family of four. Growing up as an only child, I always knew I wanted a family of my own someday. Being an only child has its perks—quiet holidays, undisturbed routines, and endless space in your room—but as I got older, I noticed the small voids: holidays shrinking, friend circles drifting, and the absence of siblings to share life’s milestones. My grandma, my best friend, passed away during my freshman year of high school. She had been my guide, my teacher, my safe harbor. She taught me how to play cards, how to drive a ’78 Nova, and most importantly, how to love fiercely and without reservation.
My grandma, my mom, and I were inseparable—the three amigos. My mom has always been my biggest cheerleader, the one cheering the loudest at softball games and life’s milestones alike. When my softball career took me nearly eight hours away for college, she worried I might never come home… and well, I didn’t. But despite her worries—and some serious health issues along the way—she’s always shown up, unwavering and steadfast.
During college, I hoped I might meet my partner, but as years passed, “the one” never appeared. After graduation, I began working at my alma mater and poured myself into my career and further education. A decade passed, and despite professional successes, I still felt an emptiness—a longing to be a mother that seemed increasingly out of reach. I tried online dating, but every attempt failed. Eventually, I asked myself a simple but radical question: why did I think I needed a partner to build a family? Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t. And so, I decided to skip it.
About four years ago, I took a leap and reached out to a local fertility clinic to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a mom. Like many millennials, I imagined instant results—walk in, walk out pregnant—but reality had other plans. After exams, tests, procedures, and some disappointing outcomes, I realized that fertility treatments were not going to work for me. I was devastated. I was in my mid-30s, and the ticking clock of motherhood loomed large.
Around this time, a colleague shared her incredible experience as a foster parent, describing the deep impact it had on her life. She encouraged me to explore fostering. I had never seriously considered anything but having a biological child. Could I really do this? Would agencies even allow a single woman to foster? Could I truly raise a child on my own? The questions swirled endlessly in my mind.
Then, in the summer of 2017, a friend reached out. She knew I was considering fostering and told me about two young girls in need of a home. She didn’t know the details, how long, or what the circumstances would be—she just asked if I was interested. Without hesitation, I said yes. I surprised even myself. I dove into preparations with gusto, buying bows, sippy cups, and everything else I thought I might need.
A couple of weeks later, the girls were placed with a mother and father instead. The agency explained that the girls needed more support than I could provide at the time. The news hit me like a punch to the chest—fear, heartbreak, and doubt swirled through me. Was this my only chance to be a mother? I could feel despair creeping in, but giving up isn’t in my nature. Instead, I channeled my disappointment into action.
Two months later, I enrolled in foster parent classes. The requirements were extensive—courses, home studies, background checks, and preparing my home for the children I was open to fostering. While some take six months or more, I was determined. I started in October and was fully licensed to foster children ages two and under by December 15. Motivation, I realized, was my superpower.
Once approved, I put my name on two lists: the foster placement list and the adoptive list. I wanted a baby immediately—I had the crib, bottles, stroller, the works—but the universe had other plans. One day, while out to lunch with friends, my phone rang. The agency had a placement for me: two toddler boys. My heart raced. Toddler boys? I had everything for a newborn, not toddlers. But this was my moment—to become a mother—and I said yes.
I rushed to work, then drove to pick them up with my foster colleague, who had become a second mother to me. Walking into the room to meet them, my heart skipped a beat. Fear threatened to take over, but I was committed. We fumbled with car seats, shopped for toddler essentials, and slowly began bonding. Those first days were filled with laughter, shopping trips, and visits to my office as I learned the ropes of single motherhood with toddlers.
Just two days before Christmas, the boys were moved to another home to stay with a sibling. I stayed composed, knowing it was best for them, but the heartbreak was immediate. I couldn’t stop crying. The fear of never becoming a mother returned. But the same friend who had inspired me to foster reminded me, “This is part of a bigger plan.” At the time, I hated hearing it—but she was right.
A month later, I received another call—this time for a 7-day-old baby girl needing a home for four to six months. I hesitated only briefly before saying yes. I bought hair bows, packed my car, and picked her up that evening. Little P, as I called her, was perfect. Our early days were a whirlwind of crying, laughing, and learning together. I fell in love immediately, fully, knowing our time together might be temporary.
At two months old, I received another call—from the adoption list—about a tiny baby, Remy. She had been born at just 23 weeks and 18 ounces, spending her first three months in the NICU. I cried as I listened to her story. Could I handle two infants? The answer was yes. I met her in the NICU that night and took her home a few days later. The tears that flowed then were a mix of relief, joy, and awe—this tiny, fragile life was mine to love.
Bringing both girls home, I was blessed with incredible support. My mom drove hours to meet them, and soon she moved closer to be part of our daily lives. P’s case remained focused on reunification, and every day with her was precious. We celebrated holidays, visited the zoo, and filled our home with laughter and love. Remy’s adoption was finalized the same year, making our bond legal and permanent.
The following spring, we learned about a biological sibling being born. I prepared my heart for the potential heartbreak, cherishing every memory with P and Remy. When the call came to welcome her home, I said yes without hesitation. Reese arrived the next day, greeted by our family and friends who supported our journey. After a year of dedication, I finalized the adoption of both girls, in the middle of a pandemic, via Zoom.
If you had told that only child, once afraid of being alone, that she would one day be sitting at her computer while three daughters climbed over her, pulling her hair and filling her heart with joy, she would have laughed. She would not have believed it possible. But here we are—four souls, a family built not just by blood, but by love, persistence, and unwavering hope. I am endlessly grateful to my younger self for never giving up on her dream. And I hope to inspire my daughters—and other single parents—to chase their dreams just as fiercely.
