Motherhood is something I have always felt prepared for, almost as if my entire life had been a journey leading to it. From the moment I was old enough to help in the children’s nursery at church, I was drawn to nurturing and guiding little ones. My education and career followed this passion—earning two degrees in child development and dedicating myself to working with children and families. I always imagined the day I would mother my own children. My husband and I even spoke about starting a family long before we were engaged, dreaming together about the life we wanted to build.
We married in June of 2016, full of hope and anticipation for the future. But shortly after, I faced health complications that would alter the course of our lives. I was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure. In an instant, my worst nightmare became reality—my body could not conceive children. I will never forget the day I received that news; it’s etched in my memory forever. That moment marked the beginning of a journey neither of us could have anticipated, a journey that ultimately led us to our daughter, Remi, whom we now raise with immense love alongside my incredible husband.
After learning that biological children were not in our story, my husband and I took time to grieve and recalibrate. Adoption had always been something we talked about, though we had imagined pursuing it only after having a couple of biological children. The idea of adopting a newborn seemed uncertain, almost like a distant dream. But as I researched our options, I discovered we could pursue a newborn adoption through an agency in our state—a possibility we hadn’t fully considered.
We attended our first adoption informational meeting and, with our hearts set, dove fully into the process. Soon we were buried in paperwork and home study requirements. It took six months to complete everything, and by December of 2018, we officially became an active waiting adoptive family. The waiting felt endless. For 19 months, no expectant mother showed interest. We presented our family to nearly ten expectant mothers, only to be passed over each time. The hope we carried was tested repeatedly, and the heartbreak was real.
Then, in July of 2020, a connection changed everything. An expectant mother from another state, twelve hours away, reached out. From our first conversation, we clicked, discovering shared values and dreams for her baby. Over the next few months, we built a relationship and planned an open adoption for her baby girl, due at the end of October—just two days before my birthday. For the first time in this journey, hope felt tangible. We were able to choose a name for the baby and talk about her as though she were already a part of our lives. The thought of her grew in our hearts, and among our friends, as we eagerly anticipated her arrival.
But life had another twist. This baby girl arrived three weeks early. Her mother called us with urgent news—we needed to drive overnight to meet her. When we arrived, the baby was in the NICU. Seeing her for the first time was a moment I will never forget. The emotions, the intensity, the joy mixed with worry—all of it is still alive in my heart. We spent three days living in her NICU room, sleeping on the tiny couch, and forming an easy, natural bond with her birth parents. Every moment felt precious.
Then came a gut-wrenching blow. We learned that the baby girl’s mother had changed her mind. She had decided to keep her. The drive home, twelve hours back, felt unbearable. Our hearts shattered with every mile. Returning home, we felt lost and unsure if we could endure more of this emotional journey. Yet, deep inside, we knew we were still meant to be parents.
Fifteen days later, a phone call changed everything again. Our social worker called us—on a Sunday evening, which was unusual—and my heart immediately knew this was significant. Before I could respond, my husband’s phone rang too. Together, we listened in disbelief as our social worker said, “A mother has chosen you.” The news felt surreal. Only weeks after our heartbreak, a new opportunity appeared, unanticipated but undeniable. The mother was already in the hospital, ready to give birth. We didn’t hesitate—we said yes immediately.
The very next day, October 26th, our baby girl, Remi, was born. We met her only hours after her arrival, along with her birth family, and everything felt right. Unlike the earlier hospital experience, this moment was pure joy. Remi was perfect, healthy, and hers to hold. For the next couple of nights, it was just the three of us in our hospital room, and the reality of parenthood began to sink in. Looking back, every twist and turn—the heartbreak, the waiting, the disrupted adoption—had been leading to this exact moment.
In a twist of fate, had the first baby girl not arrived early, we may never have been presented to Remi’s birth mother. The timing of these events—though painful—was perfect. My husband captured the sentiment in a poem he wrote shortly after we returned home from the earlier disrupted adoption:
“We thought we had found you
In fact, we were certain
We thought we had held you
Fed you
Helped you sleep and heard you cry
Turns out, that was someone else
Someone who has become a beacon
A bright light cutting through the inky black
Carving a path to the most important thing in the Universe…
YOU”
Our journey to Remi was not simple. It was painful, uncertain, and full of heartbreak. Yet every step led us exactly where we were meant to be. Today, we cannot imagine life without our daughter, Remi Rose Lennon, in our hearts, in our arms, and in our family. Everything we endured made the moment we held her even more miraculous, and I would walk this path a thousand times over for her.
