You hit like a bitch

I am blogging from my home away from home tonight. I am sitting in my jammies as I have been all day and racking my brain for some answers.

I am in recovery.
No. Scratch that, I am recovered and in misery.

We had friends join us in our house last night for a drink or two, three, four. I think you see where I am headed with this story. I will spare too many details. The night was a much needed one of reconnecting and planning out the next couple of months.

I should have figured that Life was making other plans for us, just as it always does when we try to make plans of our own.

So this morning I woke up, cleaned the mess, popped another Tylenol and snuggled with my daughter while catching up on some mindless television and occasionally laying on the floor to make baby talk and help my daughter discover the "cool" act of rolling.

My husband walks through the door an hour after he should have already been off of work to tell me the most terrible four words ever uttered out of his mouth. We all saw it coming. Of course no one wanted to embrace the reality of the situation but it's here.

"I lost my job"

Shit. All I can think is shit. Completely bull.
bullshit. (excuse my French)

Do we cry? I could cry. But instead, I hug my husband and pick up my child. My 3 month old has no clue what is going on as we both squish her between us and kiss her head.

"Mom invited us for dinner." We packed up the baby and headed over in silence.

Now I am sitting taking in the sunlight and cool breeze and blogging because what else can I do? I haven't the slightest idea where to start trying to convince my husband that this isn't his fault. He is obviously feeling like he let his wife and child down. He is obviously chain smoking our last pack of cigarettes we will probably be able to afford. How do we continue with all of our plans of weddings, vacations, mortgages...life?

Fergies song "Big girls don't cry" is playing on repeat in my brain. I have to fix this. I have to do something. I have to fix every argument, meltdown and crazy moment of this last month and I have one week to do it.

I want to take my ball and go home now but my daddy raised me to be a stubborn woman who won't take shit from anyone...including life.

I have allotted myself 5 hours for thinking/being mopey/blogging etc. My time is ticking away but I know that at the end of it I will pick myself, my husband, and child up and quietly whisper You hit like a bitch and then hit the ground running.

--Nystroms and Nugget