March 22, 2025
[Author’s Note #1: If you’ve arrived at this story after seeing one of my social media posts… then I’m sorry, because the above-promised “unexpected twist” is neither unexpected nor a twist. Even so, I still invite you to read about the entire journey — since its outcome was far from inevitable.]
[Author’s Note #2: I’ll cut to the chase: This is not the post that I expected to write.
When I teased a “risky undertaking with uncertain outcomes”, I envisioned drafting a rich, nuanced memoir series, á la The Birth of Borealis. But now, months later — for reasons overwhelming both in quantity and magnitude — that feat has officially eluded my efforts.
Thus, here I am, now proffering the entire story in a single unwieldy installment. There were, necessarily, entire chapters that I was forced to omit. Not insignificant ones, either: important, life-changing chapters. Indeed, I still sincerely hope to write the full saga, one day… but that day is not today.
You see, in the midst of laundry hampers and school drop-offs and ballet lessons and birthday celebrations… the world continues to turn, and life continues to happen.
So, here’s a very condensed version of what transpired when our lives continued to happen.]
PROLOGUE
Orientalis was always going to be our last baby. After all, God had given us just four genetic children: Borealis (“Bo” — born February 2018), Australis (“Aza” — born November 2019), Occidentalis (“Occi” — miscarried February 2021), and Orientalis (“Rhys” — born April 2022).
Four kids. That was it. And, put simply, we were incredibly certain of this mandate. So certain, in fact, that Taylor got a vasectomy a month before Rhys was even born.
Indeed, we continued to be so certain about our genetic parenthood. And yet… increasingly, our family felt incomplete. We knew that we weren’t supposed to create any more of our kids… but we began to think that, perhaps, we were meant to adopt someone else’s kids.
This was much easier said than done — especially since every potential avenue led to a definitive dead-end. Again and again, we found ourselves saying “no”.
No, foster care is not the right option for our family. That is an extremely difficult calling to which we have no inclination, *at all*. To quote one of our pastors… “Don’t manufacture a calling where you don’t have one.”
No, domestic adoption is not the right option for our family. In general, the children who need forever homes are either newborns or are older than Borealis. There is no shortage of infertile couples who want newborns — and for the sake of our preexisting children, we won’t adopt outside of birth order.
No, international adoption is not the right option for our family. We have three kids under five, and we literally can’t afford the travel and in-country cohabitation requirements.
No, kinship adoption is not the right option for our family — because, well, that usually requires that something go tragically wrong in the life of a loved one… and we could hardly justify hoping for that.
But… what other kinds of adoption are there? None, that we could think of.
Accordingly, we were at a total impasse: longing for another child that we seemingly couldn’t have. The situation felt utterly intractable. We pleaded with God — either to alter our decision matrix, or to mend our cavernous heartbreak.
And then, at the right time and in the right way, God moved. In a single moment, He bent our story in a completely unexpected direction.