I want to write

I want to write something, as I sit here at the kitchen table waiting for Mike to finish showering so we can go to bed.

I want to talk about Sawyer and how great he's doing on the medicine, or about Charlotte and how she made me want to sell her on ebay today. Note: Do NOT give Nemmy-Nemmy treat before shopping excursion.

I want to talk about my Biggest Loser competition and how I lost EIGHT pounds this week (more totals here) and how great we all did.

I want to talk about how Seasonique was the bane of my existence and a mere four weeks of it has caused cascading effects for almost two months.

I want to talk about how hard work is and how I dream about deadlines and toss and turn with anxiety.

I want to talk about my sick grandmother and how I feel like a total shithead because I'm too busy to bring the babies to see her and by the time I can spare it, she's back in the hospital, where I can't risk my kids. And how the guilt eats at me like tiny worms inside an apple that I am failing at being a good granddaughter. I am not trying hard enough.

I want to talk about something important like our country and how it's going to shit.

I want to talk about something frivolous like how I love cookies or how I have a countdown to my birthday on my calendar like I was 12 again.

I want to talk about how my teeth hurt so much I pop Motrin like candy.

I want to cry.

I want to laugh.

But I'm too tired to do all of it.