It’s been about two weeks since I’ve written anything here.
Which doesn’t sound like a very long time.
Except apparently my family took that as a challenge.
So, hi. I’m back.
And no, I’m not going to be one of those bloggers who posts every single day because, quite frankly, I do not have that kind of commitment in me. A few times a week? Absolutely. Every day?
Ma’am. I am just trying to keep everyone alive and remember where I put my coffee.
And the last couple of weeks have been… a lot.
If you read my last post, you know my youngest daughter had surgery and lost her left ovary and fallopian tube after a hemorrhagic cyst decided to cause absolute chaos.
Because apparently that wasn’t enough excitement, today we found out she has a blood clot in her arm.
Yep.
A blood clot.
In her arm.
So naturally, while the doctor is explaining everything, I’m listening like a calm, rational adult on the outside while internally my brain has already opened approximately 47 tabs.
Can it move?
Where can it go?
What do we watch for?
Should I stare at her for the next two weeks?
Is staring considered medical monitoring?
Because I can do that.
And because her body apparently likes to keep things interesting, we also have an ultrasound scheduled for her legs this week for a completely separate issue. They’re looking at her veins to determine whether she may need stents because of vascular compression issues that can sometimes overlap with the pelvic pain/endometriosis world.
So that’s fun.
One kid. Multiple body parts. Several specialists.
I should probably get one of those punch cards where the tenth medical appointment is free.
But I also need to say something about this kid beyond everything that is happening to her body.
I am so damn proud of her.
Right now, I’m not proud of her because she’s checking off some giant accomplishment or pretending everything is fine.
I’m proud of her because she is keeping her head above water.
And sometimes that is the accomplishment.
She has been through so much in such a short amount of time. Surgery, recovery, pain, appointments, uncertainty and now a blood clot thrown into the mix because apparently life thought she needed one more thing.
And she keeps getting up.
Maybe not happily every day.
Maybe not gracefully every day.
But she gets up.
She keeps going.
And right now, that is more than enough.
Sometimes surviving the season you’re in deserves just as much celebration as thriving in it.
So, baby girl, I see you.
And I’m proud of you.
Meanwhile, another one of my daughters is still in pain every. single. day.
We’ve tried things.
We’ve seen people.
We’ve asked questions.
And nothing is helping enough.
So we’re heading back into specialist land with her too, because apparently I live there now.
There’s a very specific kind of exhaustion that comes with watching your kid hurt and not being able to fix it. You can make the appointments. You can research. You can ask questions. You can advocate until you’re blue in the face.
But at the end of the day, you would trade places with them in half a second if somebody gave you the option.
And they don’t.
So you just keep going.
But she’s also doing something that makes me ridiculously happy for her.
She has a job at a local café, and when I tell you this place fits her vibe completely, I mean it.
It’s just her.
And I love watching her have this little piece of life that has absolutely nothing to do with doctors, pain, appointments or what her body is doing that day.
She gets to go to work.
She gets to be herself.
She gets to have coworkers and customers and normal everyday things.
When chronic illness takes up so much space in someone’s life, those “normal” things don’t feel small anymore.
They feel huge.
And I’m so proud of her.
I’m proud that she keeps showing up even when she hurts.
I’m proud that she keeps trying to build a life around a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
And I’m really freaking happy that she found a place that feels like her.
Now can somebody please figure out how to make her stop hurting?
That would be great.
And because I don’t want this entire update to sound like the Ames family medical chart, there is some really good stuff happening around here too.
My oldest daughter is doing well, and we recently celebrated her 25th birthday.
Twenty-five.
My first baby is twenty-five years old, which feels completely impossible considering I am obviously only 29.
Don’t check the math.
But seriously, I am so unbelievably proud of the woman she has become.
She lives with disabilities, neurological disorders and autoimmune diseases, and yet she just keeps freaking going.
She is strong. She is kind. She loves her people fiercely. She handles things that would knock a lot of people flat and somehow continues to show up for the people she loves.
Basically, she’s Superwoman.
Just with more doctor’s appointments.
Watching your child navigate a life that isn’t always easy is hard. Watching her become this incredible woman in spite of all of it?
That’s one of the greatest privileges of my life.
So yes.
YAY FOR THAT.
We celebrate the wins around here.
Especially when we get them.
And then there’s my son, who, THANK YOU, UNIVERSE, is doing alright.
He started his MRI program this semester, and I am ridiculously proud of him.
There is something very strange about watching the people you raised become actual adults with careers and plans and lives of their own.
Like… excuse me?
Yesterday you needed me to cut your food.
Now you’re learning how to operate medical imaging equipment?
Okay.
Proud mama doesn’t even begin to cover it.
And then there’s my husband.
The man works constantly.
And I mean constantly.
He works his ass off for this family, and somehow, through every one of my ideas, pivots, plans and “Okay, hear me out…” conversations, he continues to support me.
Including the fact that I am launching a business.
Again.
I know.
I KNOW.
But this one feels different.
And he knows how happy it makes me.
He wants me to do it.
He supports me doing it.
And yet…
the guilt.
Why do we do that to ourselves?
He’s working like crazy, and I’m over here sewing scrunchies, making corn packs, mixing rollerballs, writing blogs, planning vendor displays and building a business.
And even though this is work — very real work — there’s still that little voice saying:
Should you be doing more?
Should you be making more money right now?
Is this fair?
Meanwhile, if the roles were reversed, I would tell another woman to stop feeling guilty immediately.
Funny how that works.
We give everyone else grace and then ration it out to ourselves like there’s a national shortage.
But here we are.
So… This Is Life is actually happening.
Mom and I have been sewing.
My house has slowly turned into a tiny manufacturing facility.
There is fabric everywhere.
There are tags everywhere.
There are products everywhere.
I’m pretty sure thread has become part of my actual DNA.
And this coming weekend?
We have our first market.
Our FIRST ONE.
Which means I am currently operating somewhere between:
THIS IS SO EXCITING!
and
WE ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT READY.
I have lists.
I have lists for my lists.
I cross something off and somehow three new things appear underneath it.
I have accepted that the only reasonable solution is for someone to add approximately 6–10 additional hours to every day.
Nothing crazy.
I’m not asking for 40-hour days.
Just maybe 30.
Seems reasonable.
Anyone else?
And despite all of the chaos, appointments, worry, sewing, business planning and general what-the-hell-is-happening energy around here…
I am so ready for fall.
Give me the flannels.
Give me the boots.
Give me chilly mornings.
Give me changing leaves.
Give me a cup of coffee that I will reheat six times and still somehow never finish.
There’s something about fall that feels like permission to reset.
Maybe that’s what I need right now.
Not a perfectly organized life.
Not all the answers.
Not every problem solved.
Just a new season.
Because life right now is scary and exciting and exhausting and beautiful and overwhelming and really freaking good in places, too.
One daughter is keeping her head above water when life keeps throwing more at her.
Another is hurting but still showing up and finding little pieces of life that feel like her.
My oldest just turned 25 and continues to show me what strength actually looks like.
My son is starting something incredible.
My husband is working his ass off.
My mom and I are building something together.
Our first market is days away.
And I’m somewhere in the middle of all of it, trying to be a mom, wife, business owner, daughter, advocate, writer and functioning human being.
So if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the last two weeks…
gestures wildly at everything
Here.
I’ve been here.
And apparently, this is life.
See you after the market.
Assuming I survive.
— Heather