I have always been an open book. Most of the time that honesty has been a gift—though there were moments it backfired. Still, I’m grateful I was upfront during the years we struggled with infertility and miscarriage.
We wouldn’t have survived those years without the connections that formed when I spoke up. Infertility is something you really don’t understand until you live it (and my deepest hope is that you never have to). From the outside you can observe parts of it, but being in that club—one no one wants to join—changes everything. Statistically it’s common (about 1 in 8 couples), but that doesn’t make it easier.
Our story took an unexpected turn the moment we moved from fertility treatments to adoption. Suddenly I stopped sharing. It wasn’t secrecy so much as the nature of adoption itself: much of it can be private. Once our path included another person—someone we met who was considering placing her child with us—the details became delicate. Telling the story required care.
Over the years I shared pieces of our ups and downs in posts here and there. When we officially shifted to adoption I wrote a post to mark the change and to let go of that chapter of our fertility journey.
Our adoption story really begins where that shift post ended. Honestly, at first we felt like deer in headlights—completely unsure of how to start.
February 13, 2017. The day before Valentine’s Day for most, but the day we learned our final fertility procedure didn’t work. I was numb. After four years of pokes, hormones, tears and procedures, the verdict was “Not pregnant.” I never imagined it would be this hard.
If not for Anthony that day, I don’t know how long I would have stayed in that dark place. I remember driving home in a fog—tears and a hollow that felt endless. At home I wanted to hide away and grieve, but Anthony refused to let me sink there.
Where’s that card? he asked.
What card? I replied.
The adoption lawyer’s card. I’m calling her now.
He found the card, called and left a message. I felt a small flutter of hope as he took action. He asked me to call or text the lawyer too—he wanted to get things moving immediately, and I agreed.
We arranged to meet with her that week for coffee. We needed to know where to begin and what our options were; we were utterly clueless about the adoption process.
That first meeting was a relief. The lawyer walked us through the different types of adoption, explained pros and cons, and recommended local agencies. That evening we discussed everything and chose a private local agency she suggested.
Funny detail: the agency we selected sat only a block from the apartment where we’d lived when newly married, and on the corner opposite my workplace. I had walked past that building hundreds of times without realizing what it would mean to us. It would become our lighthouse.
Once we chose the agency, I contacted them and began the paperwork—surprisingly light at first. For the first time in years I felt hopeful and even a bit excited, though nervous about what lay ahead. Compared to fertility treatments, adoption felt like a fresh start and I reacted with real optimism.
That optimism existed alongside a deep grief. Choosing adoption meant accepting that I probably wouldn’t carry my own child. I had to release long-held images: a growing belly, conversations about labor and breastfeeding with friends, all the rites of pregnancy I had once imagined. Hearing coworkers gush about pregnancies often felt like salt in a wound, and offhand remarks—like “Oh, once you’re on the list you’ll get pregnant!”—were hurtful and unhelpful. (Please don’t say that to someone pursuing adoption or struggling with fertility.)
Grief needed to happen so I could truly embrace adoption. People treating it as a “backup” option made the decision harder. I allowed myself to mourn, to cry, and then intentionally stepped into this new chapter.
Meeting the agency director reassured us. She and her husband had adopted daughters, and her personal experience made her passionate and informed. The agency was cozy—upstairs in a renovated older house—and the conversations we had there helped set our minds at ease. We talked about the home study and what the process would involve. From that point, the ball started rolling.
Our social worker later summed it up well: adoption is often a “hurry up and wait” process. There’s a lot to do at the beginning—forms and meetings that feel tedious—but those steps make you feel like you’re actively moving toward the goal. The home study is part of that foundational work.
This is a natural place to stop for now: part one, the beginning and foundation of our adoption journey. I’ll share the nitty-gritty next time—expect moments of tears and anxiety, but also the happy ending we all hope for. Thank you for listening and for sharing our story with anyone who might need it. With Mother’s Day coming up, I’ll post Part 2 next week, which brings the story forward to when we finally got to hold our precious little boy. xoxo
Check out Part 2 and Part 3 of our Adoption Story.
Sometimes I hesitate to include a recipe in posts like this, but good food is a balm for the soul. Since this was long, I’ll keep the recipe notes short: these Sweet Potato Morning Glory Muffins are a favorite of mine. I’m not a baking expert, so a successful muffin feels like a home run. You can substitute pumpkin for sweet potato if you like, but I love the sweet potato version.
These fluffy Sweet Potato Morning Glory Muffins start your morning right. They’re also great as a snack—spread almond butter or a pat of fresh butter and enjoy. They’re easy to make ahead so kids can grab one on the way out the door.
Sweet Potato Morning Glory Muffins
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 c sweet potato purée or mashed sweet potatoes (about 3 medium sweet potatoes; pumpkin works too)
- 1 1/2 c whole wheat pastry flour
- 2 large eggs
- 1/2 c milk of choice
- 2 T oil (canola, melted coconut, or preferred cooking oil)
- 1/3 – 1/2 c real maple syrup
- 2/3 c shredded carrot
- 2/3 c raisins (1/2 c is fine)
- 1/2 c chopped pecans or walnuts
- 1/2 c shredded unsweetened coconut
- 1 tsp baking soda
- 1 tsp vanilla
- 2-3 tsp cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp sea salt
Instructions
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Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners and lightly spray or oil each cup.
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Whisk together flour, salt, cinnamon and baking soda in a medium bowl and set aside.
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In another bowl, combine sweet potato, oil, eggs, maple syrup, vanilla and milk. Mix by hand for best texture.
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Fold the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until combined.
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Gently fold in raisins, shredded carrot, coconut and nuts.
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Scoop batter into prepared muffin cups, filling each about three-quarters full.
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Bake 25–35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
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Cool muffins in the pan for 15 minutes, then transfer to a rack. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for 4–5 days.
