Jyn’s Adoption Story

It’s hard to know where to start Jyn’s story, so I’ll start with a snapshot of our family right before everything changed.

At the time, we had just started getting to know Ahsoka’s maternal biological family. We tried to meet at least once a month, and those relationships were growing into something steady and supportive.

Meanwhile, life at home felt like a lot.

Mars was five and stuck in a rough developmental season. Her emotions were huge, and I was struggling to keep up. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing, so I did what I always do when I’m overwhelmed: I researched. I read. I tried to learn my way into being a better mom for her.

Ahsoka still wasn’t sleeping through the night consistently. We found out later she was having night terrors, but at the time it just felt like endless exhaustion on top of everything else.

And we were fostering a very high-needs child. Our home was full, our schedules were full, and my nervous system was completely full.

There just seemed to be too much going on in our house.

The conversation I didn’t realize mattered yet

At one get-together, I found myself pouring my heart out to the biological grandparents. I told them how exhausted and overwhelmed I was. They were always so kind, the type of people who listen without trying to fix you.

During that visit, they mentioned something that landed like a strange kind of relief: they had contact with bio mom, and she had told them she had her tubes tied after Ahsoka was born.

In that moment, it felt like permission to breathe. If we wanted to stop at two kids, that could be a choice. And at that time, I truly could not imagine having more children.

The pattern that was wearing me down

Our foster child had regular visits then. While she was at visits, I used that time to grocery shop or run errands. But a pattern had started during those visits: about fifteen minutes in, the caseworker would call and ask us to come pick her up because bio mom was done.

It sounds like a small thing, but it was exhausting. I was usually in the middle of whatever errand I was trying to squeeze into that window of time. Sometimes I could turn around and grab her right away. Other times she had to wait with the caseworker while I finished what I was doing.

Everything felt sticky, complicated, and relentless.

“The call”

It happened during one of those visits.

I had a cold and had run out of medicine, so I took Mars and Ahsoka to Sam’s Club to get sinus meds. I was standing in line at the pharmacy when I saw the caseworker’s number pop up.

I ignored it at first. I assumed it was the usual “the visit ended early” call. If I needed to come back, they’d leave a message.

They did.

I checked the voicemail while we were still in line. It went something like this:

“Hi, Steph. This is (caseworker). I’m calling you about a baby that was born this week. We’re looking for a home. She’s Ahsoka’s sister. There’s no named father right now. We need to place her today, so if you could call me back in the next fifteen minutes and let me know. Otherwise I’ll start calling other homes.”

Click.

It felt like the floor dropped out from under me.

My head spun. I was sick, tired, overwhelmed, already struggling emotionally, and now my brain was trying to assemble a brand-new reality in real time.

I burst into tears right there in the pharmacy line, in the middle of Sam’s Club. Full-body panic. Public, messy, uncontrollable.

When the pharmacist called me up, I was still crying, almost hysterical. He looked uncomfortable, probably because it’s not every day someone stands at the counter panicked and sobbing.

He asked if I was okay.

I choked out, “No, I’m not okay. I think I just had a baby.” (Which made no sense out of context)

He blinked, bewildered. “Okay… how can I help you?”

“I need Advil Cold and Sinus.”

He still looked confused, so I added, “My sinuses feel like they’re going to explode. Can you sell it to me?”

And then he said, “I don’t think it’s safe to take that medication and breastfeed.”

At that point, anger bubbled up with all the other emotions and I snapped. I yelled, “That’s none of your business! I’m sick and I need medication! The baby will be fine!”

I cried harder. I was completely out of control.

I remember Mars looking scared. Ahsoka started crying too.

That was the moment I realized I had to pull it together, not because I suddenly felt better, but because my kids were right there watching me fall apart.

I took a deep breath and shoved everything down. I apologized to the pharmacist, paid, and got out as quickly as I could.

The questions that hit all at once

As I walked out, my mind was racing.

Can I handle another child right now?

How would our foster child do with a baby in the house? She was strong and had hurt Ahsoka and Mars on multiple occasions. Sometimes it was rough play. Other times it was anger. Her trauma and needs were intense, and managing her behavior was hard. Could I safely bring a fragile newborn into our home? Could I guarantee the baby’s safety? What precautions would we have to take?

And then the sleep question. Ahsoka wasn’t sleeping well, which meant I wasn’t sleeping well. Would I survive the sleep deprivation of a newborn and still be the mom I wanted to be?

Then another question rose to the top, the one that stuck in my throat:

Could I really separate these siblings?

Jyn would already be separated from her older siblings, because the oldest two lived with the biological grandparents. If we said no, she would likely be placed elsewhere. Another split. Another fracture.

The decision

The caseworker called Matt right after leaving me the message. Matt told them he didn’t know what to say yet, because we had been told bio mom couldn’t have any more babies. He needed to talk to me.

When I saw him calling, I knew. We had to decide.

Matt was on board with fostering Jyn, mostly because he didn’t want to risk the regret of separating sisters. He was almost done teaching for the semester and had the next month off. We talked through a quick plan: he would be her main caregiver while he was home, and when the semester started again he would try to handle nighttime feedings so I could rest.

We also made a safety plan around our foster child. I didn’t believe she would intentionally hurt a baby, but I did know she didn’t always understand her own strength, and she could become aggressive when dysregulated.

So we said yes.

We decided to try fostering Jyn.

Burnout and survival mode

How did I pull it together when I was already burnt out?

What did those next couple of months look like?

I wish I had a neat answer. I don’t.

At that point in my life, my self-care practices were not solid. I didn’t know how to climb out of burnout. I knew I needed something to change, but I didn’t know what.

The first step was practical: we had Matt switch to night shift.

And it helped. Uninterrupted sleep changed everything. It didn’t fix our challenges, but it gave me enough stability to think again.

Then I realized something else: I had lost myself.

I felt like a teenager asking all the old questions again.

Who am I?

What am I passionate about?

What feeds my soul?

What fills my cup?

I started a slow journey of self-exploration. I tried things I used to enjoy. I followed old interests. I chased tiny sparks of “this feels like me.” I had a hunch that if I could find myself again, I might be able to handle the stress better.

And then COVID happened.

And then the world shut down

COVID hit in the February after Jyn was born, and suddenly everything got harder. The support systems we relied on disappeared overnight. The routines that helped us regulate were gone. Everyone was home, all the time, with big feelings and nowhere to put them.

We did what we could to keep our sanity while cooped up with three kids and a new baby. Like everyone else, we were on shaky ground until we found what worked for us.

Eventually, a new normal formed. Not perfect. Not easy. But balanced enough to survive.

Falling in love, for real

As Jyn grew, so did our love for her.

She was sweet, silly, and deeply empathetic. Mars and Ahsoka loved helping with her, teaching her new things, and playing with her. The sister bond they formed was strong. They fought like normal siblings do, but they always circled back to each other.

Matt and I fell in love with her unique little personality, the way she fit into our family like she had always been here.

When we reached the point where the court asked if we would adopt her, the answer came easily.

Yes.

Not a hesitant yes. Not a “we’ll see.”

Just yes.

Adoption day

Jyn was officially adopted on April 7th.

We celebrated with her biological family, too. They were supportive of us and grateful that we were able to keep their grandchildren together. That mattered to them, and it mattered to us. Jyn’s story started in a complicated place, but she had people who loved her on multiple sides, and I will always be thankful for that.

What Jyn changed in our family

Looking back, I didn’t know how we were going to swing everything. I just knew we had to try.

Jyn stretched us, absolutely. She added to the chaos and the exhaustion, especially at the beginning. But she also brought something we didn’t know we were missing.

She brought joy that was simple and steady.

She brought softness into a season that felt sharp.

She brought connection. Not only between the girls, but in our whole family rhythm. There’s something about watching siblings bond, watching them choose each other again and again, that grounds you. It makes you fight harder for the home you’re trying to build.

It also forced me to face myself.

That season was when I started to understand I couldn’t parent on adrenaline forever. I had to slow down and take an honest look at what I needed emotionally and psychologically. I needed to build my parenting toolbox, not out of guilt, but out of survival and love.

That’s when my mantra really took root:

One day at a time.

Because sometimes you do not get to plan your way out of the hard. Sometimes you just keep showing up, making the next right decision, and trusting that support will meet you along the way.

The adoption timeline, and the part nobody posts about

One thing I didn’t understand at the beginning was how much waiting adoption can include. It’s not just paperwork. It’s court dates. It’s continuances. It’s months of living in the in-between, loving a child fully while still not having legal certainty.

That kind of limbo does something to you. It keeps your body braced for impact. Even when things are going well, part of you is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But on the other side of it, when the adoption is final, something shifts. Not because you suddenly love them more, but because you can finally exhale.

You can finally say, “You’re staying. You’re safe. You’re ours forever.”

Where We Landed:

We said yes. We survived the hard parts. The court finalized. We became a family of five.

But the honest ending is this:

It took time. It took support. It took therapy and tools and setbacks and learning. It took us admitting when we were overwhelmed, and it took us choosing “one day at a time” even when that felt too big.

And if you’re reading this in your own hard season, especially if you’re parenting through trauma, foster care, adoption, or neurodivergence, I want you to know something I didn’t know back then:

It’s okay that it’s hard.

It’s okay that you don’t feel capable every moment.

You can be burnt out and still be a good parent.

You can be overwhelmed and still make brave, loving choices.

Jyn has been a gift to our family. Not because it was easy, but because she belongs here. Because her sisters needed her, and she needed them. Because love grew in the cracks of our exhaustion, and somehow, we all became more ourselves on the other side.

One day at a time.