I’ve had my foster daughter since she was two days old, so does that mean the love I feel for her should be the same as the love I feel for my biological son? It’s a complicated question that challenges the notion of “the same” love. Sure, biologically, I didn’t give birth to her, but I’ve been there for her from the very beginning—witnessing her first smiles, her first hiccups, her first steps. In so many ways, I’ve been her parent just as much as I’ve been to my biological son. So, the love I feel for her runs deep AF, but it still feels different. Not because it’s less, but because it’s shaped by a different kind of history. The love for my biological son is instinctual, rooted in shared genetics and an innate drive to protect and nurture the next generation. The love for my foster daughter has been built on a foundation of care, trust, and a fierce protectiveness like a lioness has for her cubs.

I will never forget the phone call from the County asking me if I’d be willing to take a baby that just came into foster care. I was standing in the hallway when the words hit me, and a wave of emotions (albeit mostly panic) immediately rushed over me. A baby. A NEWBORN baby! A tiny, vulnerable soul needing a home, and it was going to happen fast—she’d be arriving tomorrow. My mind raced through all the things I needed to do: buy a car seat, bottles, and diapers and stock up on hand-me-downs from all my friends with kids, all while feeling an overwhelming mix of excitement, fear, and uncertainty. I barely had time to wrap my head around it, let alone find the right words to explain everything to my then-boyfriend, now-husband and to my family. In that moment, I wasn’t just preparing for a child to enter my home; I was bracing for a whole new chapter in our life.

And then she arrived, all 6 pounds 8 ounces of her. I was struck by how impossibly small she was. This tiny human, with no possessions to her name—no clothes, no toys, no familiar scent to comfort her. As the gruff, bearded caseworker handed her to me, it felt like time stopped. I knew, with an overwhelming clarity, that I was all she had in that moment, and I would be everything she needed moving forward.

So I think it’s okay to love differently. Perhaps love doesn’t need to be identical in every situation, it just needs to be authentic and enduring. The beauty is that even though the paths to loving these two children have been different, both loves are valid and meaningful AF, and they’re equally filled with the same dedication and joy.

My hope is that this blog may be helpful, or dare I say inspirational to someone out there. So please, leave your thoughts!