There’s a kind of pride no parent ever expects to feel — the kind that comes when life takes a turn you never saw coming.

Before cancer, I thought I knew what I’d be proud of. First words, first steps, school awards, maybe hitting a home-run. 

Now, pride looks completely different.

Now I find myself welling up with tears because the scale shows a tiny weight gain.
Because my child took a pill without crying.
Because she opted to walk into clinic instead of using the wheelchair
Because port access didn’t end in panic this time.
Because we made it through a day without vomiting, or a night without pain.

These are the milestones that no parent ever dreams of celebrating — and yet, in this world, they are everything. They are courage. They are progress. They are life inching forward, one fragile victory at a time.

I’ve learned that tiny victories aren’t really tiny at all.

They are the moments that remind us, our kids are still fighting, still laughing, still here. 

I wish my child didn’t have to be this brave.  I wish I never had to clap for port accesses or blood counts.

But since this is our story, I will celebrate every small step, every brave moment, every glimpse of light - every tiny victory like it’s a mountain climbed. Because it is.

If you know this world, you know that every “small” milestone is anything but. It’s survival, resilience, and love — all wrapped up in one fragile, incredible moment.

And I’ve never been prouder of anything, or anyone, in my life.