Nine Years, Two Daughters, and a Love That Multiplies

When Cortez and I first met nine years ago in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, we had no idea what the future held for us. We were just two people at the beginning of something neither of us could yet define — brought together by mutual friends, sharing conversations that stretched into the night, and laughing over things that made no sense to anyone else. Looking back, I realize now how rare it is to find someone who makes life feel easier, lighter, and full of unexpected joy.

From the very beginning, being around each other felt natural — like a breath of fresh air in a chaotic world. There was no pressure, no performance — just comfort. That kind of connection becomes a foundation, whether you know it at the time or not.

Three years ago, we stood hand in hand and said our vows. That day was beautiful — not just because of the flowers, the friends, or the photos — but because we knew we were choosing each other, every day, for the rest of our lives. We were full of dreams: for travel, for shared purpose, and most importantly, for a family.

Starting that family was everything to us. When I found out I was pregnant with our first daughter, our hearts nearly burst. We were a mix of emotions — nervous about the unknown, but so excited to meet this tiny person who already had all our love. We spent months imagining her — wondering who she would look like, what her laugh would sound like, how it would feel to hold her for the first time.

And then, Willimina Daisy arrived. She was pure magic. From the moment we laid eyes on her, we could see she was a perfect reflection of her father. Those deep brown eyes, her warm skin, her easy smile — she was “daddy’s girl” through and through. Friends, family, even strangers would say, “She looks just like her dad!” And they were right. We couldn’t stop staring at her. Watching Cortez hold his mini-me was one of the most heart-melting moments of my life.

A couple of years later, I got pregnant again, and I remember joking with Cortez, “Alright, this one better look like me!” It was just a lighthearted comment — the kind of playful banter couples share while waiting for that first ultrasound. We weren’t really serious. But when Valentina Janie was born, I gasped.

She had fair skin, soft auburn hair, and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. She was my mirror image. For a moment, it didn’t even feel real. Genetics, it turns out, is full of surprises — and apparently, a sense of humor, too.

Holding her in my arms for the first time felt surreal. It was as if the universe had whispered a private secret just to me — that this little girl, so unexpectedly familiar, had been mine all along. That moment will stay with me forever.

Now, our house is filled with giggles, squeals, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Watching our daughters together — so different in appearance, but so connected in spirit — is one of the greatest joys of my life.

Willimina is the most loving big sister. She doesn’t notice that Valentina’s hair is red or that her eyes are blue. All she sees is “my baby sister with the big, chunky cheeks.” To her, love has no filter, no categories — just affection, laughter, and shared snacks.

Sometimes people ask me, “Are you worried about how they’ll grow up in a world that sees skin color before character?” It’s a fair question — and one I’ve sat with.

But honestly, I’m not worried. Because what they will learn first — and most deeply — is love. From the very beginning, Cortez and I promised to raise our daughters the same way: with equal respect, with equal attention, and with unconditional love. In our home, we don’t just say “I love you.” We show it — in bedtime stories, in dance parties in the living room, in the way we listen to their little voices.

Children aren’t born seeing difference as a divide. They’re born ready to love — freely, without condition. They measure love not in skin tone, but in hugs, kisses, and how safe they feel when they fall asleep in your arms. That’s how we want them to see the world: not through the lens of division, but through the clarity of compassion.

In our family, love doesn’t divide — it multiplies. It expands with every shared moment, every belly laugh, every tear wiped away by a tiny hand. It grows stronger in silence and louder in joy. And more than anything, it proves that family isn’t defined by matching features — it’s defined by hearts that beat in rhythm with one another.

Yes, genetics can surprise you. It can teach you to expect the unexpected, to embrace the unpredictable. But love? Love is steady. Love is intentional. Love is what makes a house a home.

And in our home, love comes in every color of the rainbow — all equally bright, all equally cherished.