Bubbles and Breaks
This week has been… mercurial. Not in a chaotic, stormy way, but more like a lava lamp — emotions bubbling up in bright colors, glowing for a moment, then slowly sinking back down, only to rise again. Grief, hope, stress, and joy have all taken their turns drifting through the glow. The kind of week where you don’t know if you want to laugh, cry, scream, or just curl up in bed with Taylor Swift on repeat. Honestly, maybe all of the above.
Friday began with heartbreak. My parents’ dog, Cosmo, crossed the rainbow bridge just a day after his 10th birthday. He was such a love bug, a gentle giant. Babaloo adored him — and honestly, so did everyone who met him. (Well, maybe not Pye Pye, but even she tolerated him in her own way.) Losing him feels bittersweet: far too soon for such a sweet soul, yet peaceful knowing he passed at home, on his beloved ottoman, with my parents right beside him. His absence lingers already, and I know we’ll all miss him forever. I keep going back to old photos of him — as a puppy with Babaloo, and even the very first day my dad brought him home. I’ll probably end up framing one, maybe more, because I don’t want to forget the quiet joy he brought into our lives.
The weekend that followed felt almost like life insisting on balance, even if it was messy. I spent two full days working on my book, buried in pages and finally feeling that creative rhythm again. Drew camped out in my office with me, tinkering on his website project, and together we found this quiet new rhythm — different hobbies, same room, the steady hum of being side by side. On Sunday morning, we didn’t rush into anything. We stayed in bed until the last possible minute, wrapped in pillow talk and affection, not even caring that I had promised myself I’d get into the garden. Later that afternoon, I headed to the Museum of Contemporary Art with friends, including one who’s getting married in a couple of weeks. We talked weddings, art, and the little details that make a big day feel real. Somewhere in the middle of it, I realized how grateful I am to have found genuine connection in that group of women.
And then, because I have no shame, Taylor Swift dropped her new album and I dropped my credit card like my life depended on it. I even moved meetings to make sure I snagged the limited release vinyl. Zero regrets. There’s a reason I’m in her top 5% of listeners — and honestly, I’ll die proudly holding that title.
But life doesn’t let you stay suspended in the sweet spots for too long. Work came roaring in at the start of the week, loaded with new clients and projects. It’s a good problem to have, but it’s also the kind that leaves me staring at my calendar wondering if I’m about to drown. The stress buzzed in the background, and then Tuesday morning Drew managed to break his 8th rib — one cough and stretch, and suddenly we were spending the day in the ER. He’s down and out for the next four weeks, which means I’m stepping into “mister man” mode around the house. Mowing the lawn is first on my list this weekend, and if you hear swearing echoing across the neighborhood, just know it’s me trying to wrestle the mower into cooperation.
Layered on top of everything else is my body’s constant reminder that I live in two-week increments. The last couple of days I’ve been nauseous and running warm, and then this morning, the spotting started. Not enough to mean anything definitive, but enough to stir both hope and dread. Maybe it’s implantation bleeding. Maybe it’s just my period showing up. Either way, I can’t test until Saturday, so I’m stuck in limbo. Drew’s been right there with me — hopeful, but also the voice of reason. Yesterday we were joking about baby names and how wild it would be to have two Taurus’ and one Scorpio under the same roof (spoiler: chaos). This morning on the porch, we daydreamed about announcing at the holidays — picturing reactions, laughing, and letting ourselves enjoy the “what if” without fully moving in. It was sweet, and even fun, but with that grounding undercurrent of knowing it might not happen this time. If my period comes, it’ll hurt, but I’ll be okay. And if it’s good news… well, that would be the bees knees.
Somehow this week has managed to be all things at once — heartbreak, coziness, stress, laughter, caretaking, hope. Proof that life doesn’t wait for you to finish feeling one thing before throwing the next at you. Somehow, I can be fangirling over Taylor, grieving Cosmo, picking up Drew’s slack, stressing about work, and still daring to hope for something more. It’s messy. It’s bipolar. It’s mine. And this week, I’m just letting it be what it is.
