People always ask, “Weren’t you scared?”
And honestly? Yeah. Terrified. I had no idea what I was doing.
I didn’t have a partner. No big house. No perfect nursery with themed wallpaper. Just me, a one-bedroom apartment, and this deep, unshakable feeling that somebody out there needed someone like me.
The call came on a rainy Tuesday. They said it was a newborn. Born early. No family stepping forward. Just… floating in the system. Alone.
I said yes before they even finished the sentence.
When they placed him in my arms, he weighed less than a bag of sugar. His little hand barely wrapped around the tip of my finger. And I swear to you—he looked up at me like he already knew I was scared, and didn’t care.
That first night was a blur. I stayed awake most of it, just watching him breathe. The quiet rhythm of his tiny breaths, the rise and fall of his chest, was the only thing that grounded me. The world felt so big, so overwhelming, and here I was, this unprepared 31-year-old woman, holding a baby that I was supposed to keep alive and safe. I had never been more uncertain of anything in my life.
But, strangely, there was also something else. Something deeper. A sense of purpose. Like, for the first time in a long while, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do.
He came into my life with a lot of medical needs. Premature babies don’t just need love—they need time, patience, and a whole team of doctors and nurses. I spent my days learning how to care for him, how to feed him, how to help him grow strong enough to survive on his own. And, slowly but surely, he did grow. He gained weight, his skin softened, and his eyes started to open more often, until one day, he looked at me with a gaze that seemed almost… knowing.
I named him Julian. I didn’t know why at first. It just felt right.
The weeks passed, and I found myself becoming more attached to this little boy. And by “attached,” I mean in love. I was in love with the way his face lit up when he saw me, even though he was still too young to recognize me. I was in love with the sound of his giggles, the way his tiny fingers curled around my hand, the way he trusted me without question. He was everything to me.
But, as much as I tried to ignore it, I knew there would come a time when I would have to give him up. That’s the way the foster system works. You take care of these children, you nurture them, you love them, and then, when the time comes, they go back to their biological families—or sometimes, a forever home with another family.
I couldn’t think about that. Not yet. Not when he was still so fragile, still so small. But the thought lingered, quietly, in the back of my mind, like a storm cloud I couldn’t push away.
Then, the call came.
It was on another rainy Tuesday—just like the first call had been. I was sitting on the couch, holding Julian in my arms as he slept, when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Sarah?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“We need you to come in. It’s time.”
My heart sank. I knew what they were talking about. This was the day—the day when Julian’s biological mother had decided to come back into the picture. She had expressed interest in reclaiming him, and now, the system was pushing to reunite them. I had been expecting it, but it didn’t make it any easier.
I stood up, the weight of the phone in my hand felt too heavy, too real. Julian stirred, but didn’t wake up. I stared down at him, and for the first time, I felt the full weight of the situation—he wasn’t mine. I had no legal claim on him. And yet, I loved him like he was my own.
I took a deep breath and made my way to the foster agency. The social worker greeted me in the waiting room, but I could hardly focus on anything she said. All I could think about was Julian. The baby I had fought for, loved, and cared for like a mother.
When I walked into the room where Julian’s biological mother was waiting, I was surprised by how calm I felt. This woman, this stranger who had made the decision to bring him into this world but then walked away from him, was now here to take him from me. And I was supposed to just… hand him over?
She was in her mid-twenties, worn from the hardships life had dealt her. Her eyes were red, and I could see the hesitation in her movements. She looked at me like she wasn’t sure how to start, but I could see the longing in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, almost apologetically. “I never meant for things to end up like this.”
I looked down at Julian, who was peacefully asleep in my arms. My heart ached, but I kept my voice steady.
“You’ve been given a second chance with him. If you want to make things right, you can. But this—this is your chance to prove it.”
I didn’t know where the words came from. But they felt true, and when I said them, I realized that they weren’t just meant for her. They were meant for me, too. Because here I was, a single woman, about to give up the child I had come to see as my own. And yet, I was telling her that she had a chance to change things.
The next few days were a blur. The system decided that Julian’s biological mother could have temporary custody, but she would need to undergo a series of evaluations and prove her stability before anything permanent could happen. I was both relieved and devastated. Relief, because maybe—just maybe—she could make things right for him. But devastated, because I wasn’t sure I could bear to let him go.
I spent the following weeks fighting a battle within myself. Was I being selfish by wanting to keep him? Did I have the right to be his mother when I wasn’t even his birth parent? Was it really best for him to stay with me, someone with no experience in raising a child? Or was I holding on to him because I was scared of losing someone I had come to love more than I ever thought possible?
And then, one night, as I sat rocking Julian to sleep, I felt something shift inside me. Maybe it was the way he gripped my finger as he slept, or maybe it was the quiet peace I had found in this tiny apartment with him. Either way, I knew what I had to do.
I wasn’t just his foster mom anymore. I was his mother. And I wasn’t going to let him go without a fight.
The karmic twist came when Julian’s biological mother, after months of trying to get her life back on track, realized she wasn’t ready to be a mother. She wasn’t strong enough, and she knew Julian deserved more than she could give him. In a moment of clarity, she asked me to adopt him. She knew I loved him the way she never could.
And that’s when everything changed.
I adopted Julian, and with it, I gained a family I never thought I’d have. The path to motherhood hadn’t been easy, but it had been worth every moment. The hardest part wasn’t the sleepless nights, the struggles with daycare, or the endless doctor’s appointments. The hardest part was believing I was worthy of this love.
But in the end, I had earned it. Not just by loving Julian, but by accepting the challenge of motherhood, with all its ups and downs, and all the risks involved.
The lesson I learned—and the one I’d share with anyone considering fostering or adopting—is this: you don’t have to have everything perfectly planned. You don’t have to be “ready.” You just have to love them. Because love is what makes you strong, and love is what will guide you through the hardest times.
If you’re reading this and thinking about taking a leap into foster care or adoption, know this: you are enough. You don’t need to be perfect—you just need to be there, every step of the way.
If you’ve found inspiration in my story, please share it with someone who needs it. Let’s keep spreading love and hope.
