We had three biological boys. Life was full and beautiful, yet deep in my heart I still longed for another child. Friends would often say they were “so done” after their last baby, but I never felt that sense of completion. Something in me kept whispering that our family wasn’t finished yet.
Our three boys were born close together, and life moved at a relentless pace. The days were busy, loud, and joyful, but they also slipped by far too quickly. Occasionally, the idea of another child would surface, only to be pushed aside as life carried on. Three years passed, then five, then eight.
With three boys, the idea of a little girl naturally came up. But truthfully, gender didn’t matter to me. I simply wanted another baby—to hold, to love, to nurture, and to protect. My mother often mentioned adoption, especially from China. “Oh Amy, why don’t you adopt one of those precious babies from China?” she would say. I knew almost nothing about adoption and brushed it off, mostly out of fear and the unknown.
Nearly seven years after our youngest son was born, the conversation about another child became more serious. By then, my husband Derek and I were in our late thirties. I wasn’t sure I wanted to put my body through another pregnancy or risk complications. We also wondered if we still had the energy to start over with a baby. Still, the pull on my heart wouldn’t let go.
One day, my oldest son, Aidan, came home and casually asked, “Can we adopt a baby girl?” A friend’s family had adopted from China, and Aidan loved watching the bond between the older brother and his new sister. That simple question reopened a door I had tried to keep closed.
Adoption came back into the conversation, though uncertainty lingered. Derek wasn’t convinced, and I knew we needed time to truly understand what adoption would mean for our family. Still, I knew with absolute certainty that I could love another child fiercely, no matter how they came to us.
Coincidentally, my parents knew a man who worked in adoption. My mom handed me his business card—three separate times. The first two, I tucked it away in a drawer, afraid of what taking that step might lead to.
Another year passed. I continued bringing up adoption, but Derek hesitated. “We’d be starting all over again,” he would say. Our youngest was nearing ten, and while I tried to convince myself to be content, I feared I would regret never trying. Wanting more didn’t mean I loved my children any less, but that guilt weighed heavily on me.
Then came our fifteenth wedding anniversary. We took a long weekend away, sitting at a bar overlooking the ocean on a crisp, sunny afternoon. Somewhere in the middle of casual conversation, Derek looked at me and said, “I think we should do it. I think we should look into adopting.” My heart nearly stopped. He added that while he wasn’t sure about an infant, he’d consider a toddler. I agreed, stunned and hopeful, knowing this was a turning point.
That Monday morning, I finally dialed the number on the business card. My hands shook as my heart raced. Mike answered, and I poured out questions without even knowing where to begin. He explained he worked for the Connecticut Department of Children and Families and that adoption would be through foster care. I wrote everything down, unaware that reunification was DCF’s primary goal.
Without even checking with Derek, I scheduled an information session. One step closer. There was no turning back.
After attending the session, we committed to PRIDE training and talked openly with our boys. They were excited, curious, and nervous, wondering about names, gender, and where their future sibling might come from.
The six weeks of parenting classes were eye-opening. Despite having raised three children, we learned so much about trauma, attachment, and children from diverse backgrounds. It was exhausting but invaluable.
Not long after starting training, I ran into my friend Mary Ellen at the gym. She mentioned a toddler girl her brother and sister-in-law were fostering—Sammie, fifteen months old. Something inside me clicked. I blurted out that we would be that family. Fate seemed to be intervening.
When we met Sammie for the first time, my knees nearly buckled. She looked so much like me it took my breath away. From that moment, we were all in. For a year, Sammie became part of our lives through visits and overnights. Our boys adored her. We all fell deeply in love.
Despite our hopes, Sammie was reunified with her mother at two and a half. The call came suddenly. I collapsed in grief, feeling a pain that mirrored loss itself. Our family was shattered.
Looking back, I believe Sammie led us to Mary Claire. And I believe Sammie is exactly where she needs to be now.
After grieving, Derek and I decided to move forward—but not through DCF. We chose domestic infant adoption. The path was daunting, overwhelming, and terrifying, but we took it one step at a time.
When we were finally chosen by Angel and Connor, time stood still. Joy and disbelief collided as our dream became real.
Our journey with Angel and Connor was filled with honesty, trust, and unexpected connection—including sharing the same name for baby girl: Evelyn.
Mary Claire entered the world on a snowy Kansas day, and from the moment we held her, everything felt right. Even amid joy, I felt deep empathy for her birth mother, understanding that adoption carries grief and love side by side.
Mary Claire has transformed our family in ways I can’t fully explain. Our boys adore her. My towering husband melts in her presence. She radiates joy and love wherever she goes.
We are blessed with a beautifully open relationship with her birth family, one rooted in trust, respect, and genuine love.
Through it all, my passion for helping others find their way through adoption was born. Hello Baby Adoption Consultants became my calling—to guide families through fear toward hope.
Because sometimes, all you have to do is try.
