We had been battling infertility for a few years when I first mentioned adoption to my husband. I had grown up surrounded by adoption. Some of our good friends were adopted, an aunt and uncle considered adoption, a lifelong friend had two children through adoption. It was a natural part of my life. For my husband, it was as foreign as lettuce on Mars.  

I would bring up adoption about once a year, initially. Each time, it was a flat-out no. There were times when we would dig deeper and discuss it. His reasoning and responses would vary between weird, expensive, and numerous other shallow excuses. That being said, he had his reasons, and he felt strongly about it.  

At one point, I got more serious and started seeking more information. I received a packet one day, and he was not impressed. He became less impressed after seeing the fees, the requirements, and reading statistics. Adoption was put on the back-burner again. 

Eventually, we started talking about it a bit more seriously. While I wanted him to be on the same page as I was, I knew that healing and letting go of the dream of having biological children was a process. It’s not just something you “get over.” I knew he was grieving in his own way. For me, the desire to parent trumped biology. And I just knew that once he held that baby, it wouldn’t matter to him either.

I spent time reading and finding ways to work adoption into the conversation. When a good friend gave birth to her daughter, that’s when his heart changed. He loved that little girl so much. I think that’s when he finally started to give serious thought to adoption. I believe that loving her, spending time with her, helped him to see that perhaps he could love someone who wasn’t biologically connected to him.

One day, out of the blue, I got a social media message from an old coworker. I read it and was so excited, but I prepared myself for his answer. I was washing dishes, drying a glass, when I casually mentioned the message that there was someone who wanted us to adopt her baby. I turned to face him, sure that he would say no again. He looked up casually, and replied, “Sure, let’s do it.” I nearly dropped the dish I was drying.  

The rest, as they say, is history. And so began our adoption journey. For the record, I was right. Once he held our son in his arms, it was done. He fell as head over heels in love as I did. Once we decided on foster adoption, he was the lead and comforter in that process. Life is good.

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Karla King is a passionate open adoption advocate, adoptive mom, foster mom, wife, reader, avid creator of food, stay-at-home mom, and Christian. She loves taking care of her family, supporting others on the adoption journey, and watching the world through her children’s eyes.