When Cortez and I met nine years ago in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, neither of us could have imagined the beautiful, unpredictable journey that awaited us.

We were just two people brought together by mutual friends — laughing, talking, and discovering that life felt a little lighter in each other’s company.

Three years ago, we made it official, standing side by side as husband and wife, full of dreams for the family we hoped to build together.

Starting that family meant everything to us. When I found out I was pregnant with our first daughter, we were ecstatic — nervous, excited, and already imagining her tiny fingers, her first laugh, her first steps.

When our sweet Willimina Daisy was born, she came out a perfect reflection of her father. Everyone said the same thing the moment they saw her: “She’s her daddy’s girl!” Dark eyes, warm skin, that unmistakable smile — she was his little twin, and we couldn’t have been prouder.

So, when I became pregnant again, I laughed and told Cortez that maybe this one would be my “mini me.” It was a lighthearted joke — one of those things couples say to each other while waiting for the ultrasound.

But when Valentina Janie finally arrived, I stared in disbelief. There she was — my daughter — with fair skin, auburn hair, and the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen. She was truly my mirror image.

Holding her for the first time felt like holding a secret the universe had whispered into existence. Genetics, it turns out, has a wonderful sense of humor.

Now, watching our two girls together is the greatest joy of my life.

Willimina adores her baby sister. She doesn’t see differences in skin tone or eye color — she just sees “my baby sister with the big, chunky cheeks.” Their laughter fills our home, a sound so pure it drowns out any of the noise from the outside world.

People sometimes ask if I worry about them growing up in a world that often sees color before character.

The truth is, I don’t. Because what they’ll learn first and most deeply — from us, from home — is love. Cortez and I will raise them the same way, treat them the same way, and, most importantly, love them the same way.

Children are naturally colorblind. They don’t measure love in shades of skin — they measure it in hugs, in bedtime stories, in how safe and seen they feel. And that’s exactly how we want our girls to see the world.

In our home, love isn’t divided — it multiplies. It grows through laughter, through the way their small hands reach for each other, through the unspoken truth that family isn’t defined by matching features but by shared hearts.

So yes — genetics can be wild, surprising, even magical. But love? Love is steady. Love is simple. Love is unconditional.

And in our family, love comes in every color of the rainbow.