It’s very seldom I feel like I’m on the verge of falling apart, but this past week, let me tell ya, I’m constantly picking up the pieces.

I’m usually the voice of reason. I calm my overly-stressed husband and friends. Perk them up out of their pessimism with my optimistic ideologies. My grandmother told me her secret to wrinkle-free living is not stressing. You can either do something to fix the situation, or get over it. Or in my version of her motto: “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.”

The problem is, this past week I’ve gotten myself into too many things I can’t get out of, and I’m feeling completely helpless.

The next month and a half is going to be Hell… For lack of better words. Nevermind that I still need to find a place to move, and move… The hardest part is an impending trip where I’ll be away from my daughter working 12 hour days. Well, if I’m lucky it’ll only be 12 hours. If my husband was going to be with her this wouldn’t bother me as much but he will also be working 10-12 hour days that week (and from now on).

I thought I was used to this… Working, being a mom, accepting that she enjoys her time at school, that it’s good for her, but knowing she loves me even more. But this is sending me for a loop and I’m dreading it.

Thing is, I can’t get out of it. So I need to put my big girl panties on, suck it up, and get into it. Then, when it’s all said and done.–Our move, the start of his new job, my trip… And after some nice quantities of quality time with my girl… I’ll finally cash in on my birthday spa gift. I’m gonna need it.

Wait, what was that? Has my optimism has returned?