He was our dream come true. After five years of heartache, hope, and tireless waiting, we finally held this brand-new nugget of perfection in our arms. My husband and I gazed at our little bundle, soaking in the magic of his first coos, our hearts full in a way words could hardly capture. In that moment, we were a family complete, a tiny universe of love wrapped in swaddles and wonder.
“$132.76,” murmured the cashier, pulling me back to reality. I blinked at the conveyor belt stacked high with diapers, onesies, and tiny socks. We had been aunt and uncle enough times to know the drill, but this—this was for us. Only six days from the due date, every item in our cart carried the weight of anticipation, excitement, and a touch of terror. Parenthood had never felt so close and so fragile all at once.
Our journey to this day wasn’t what most would imagine. We weren’t in the room for conception, of course, but the path to becoming parents had its own kind of miracle. Years of infertility, appointments, heartbreak, and hope had led us here. Adoption had always been part of our plan, a dream we held quietly as we navigated the unpredictable waters of trying to conceive. When traditional paths didn’t work, we pivoted—and that pivot opened the door to what our social worker called “the easiest adoption ever.” Romantic in paperwork and perseverance, yes—but profoundly life-changing.
My husband fumbled with his wallet, paying for the supplies for a child not yet in our arms. The retail transaction felt like a sacred rite of passage, the mingling of anticipation, joy, and fear almost too much to bear. And then, a buzz in my back pocket jolted us forward.
“Hello?”
“You need to get to the hospital NOW!” The voice of our son’s aunt rang through with loving urgency. Mama Cole’s sister was in labor ahead of schedule, and our little boy was on his way.
I squealed, grabbing my husband by the arm and announcing to all of Target, “IT’S TIME!” Perhaps a few shoppers gave us sideways glances, but in my mind, the store erupted in applause, as if the universe itself celebrated this long-awaited arrival. Every nerve and heartbeat surged as we drove to the hospital, knowing the most courageous person we’d ever meet—Nicole, our miracle bearer—was moments from bringing our child into the world. We waited, hearts pounding, eyes tracing the pennies glistening in the atrium fountain, emotions overwhelming us with every passing second.
Nicole—Mama Cole as she would come to be—was a force of love and courage. At just under five-foot-nothing and barely seventeen, her clarity, poise, and generosity of spirit were extraordinary. We fell in love with her instantly. She shopped with me for the layette, marveled at ultrasounds, shared Jamba Juice and stories of hopes, dreams, and ordinary teenage joys. She gave our son life, but also gave herself to us in trust, faith, and kindness.
The birth itself was a whirlwind of terror and awe. A cord wrapped tightly around our son’s tiny neck made our knees buckle, and when he finally cried, relief and love washed over us in a single, devastatingly beautiful wave. Even in what was called the “easiest adoption ever,” grief lingered alongside joy. Adoption is complex, tender, and miraculous, and that day held the full spectrum of human emotion.
Since then, we’ve built a lifetime of memories. I tease our now 14-year-old son about his love for B horror movies—Mama Cole’s influence, surely—and we’ve celebrated holidays, shared meals, and laughed through the early years of family life. Nicole and our son share a bond that time and distance cannot break. She is, and always will be, a saving grace—a wise, radiant woman whose spirit continues to inspire us.
Of course, not all chapters are neat. Some family members stand on the sidelines, and questions remain unanswered. But we wouldn’t change a moment of our story. Nicole didn’t just give us our son; she gave us faith, love, and an enduring example of courage and generosity. She remains one of our wisest teachers, a guiding star in our lives.
Perhaps my favorite memory came one Christmas when we took our son and Nicole to an event. An elderly woman, observing our little trio, whispered, “He’s beautiful.” We responded in unison, “Thank you!” and I added quickly, “I had nothing to do with it,” winking at Nicole. She leaned close and whispered, “I’ll take credit for his good looks. You can take credit for his smile.” That small, tender exchange captured everything—love, gratitude, and the extraordinary connection between a child and the women who gave him life in different, perfect ways.
