It's the night before I'll bring my son home forever, and all I want to do is cry.  Not even tears of joy, but tears of frustration, sadness, loneliness, and self-pity.  What a beautiful place to be right before I witness one of the greatest miracles of my life, huh?

I mean, seriously, almost exactly four months ago, I was told that I had a less than one percent chance of bringing home a healthy baby.  Heck, I was told I had less than a one percent chance of bringing home any kind of baby alive.  Four months ago, I was fully expecting to bring home a small urn of ashes after a memorial service.  That's the most I thought I'd ever see of the little life that was growing inside of me.

Instead, my God showed up in great style, and I'm bringing home a very healthy and thriving little boy named Burke Michael Goodwin.

Four months ago, I wrote, "Please pray fervently, warriors.  We need our God to step in and do a big thing right now."

He did.  And instead of feeling elated, ecstatic, encouraged, or excited, I feel irritable, lonely, frustrated, and worried.

I know that some of this is hormones.  I'm still only three weeks post-partum, even though I feel like it's been months since I've had my little man.  I'm trying to remind myself that my body isn't supposed to be back to normal yet, much less my emotions.

However, there's a small part of me that feels genuinely hurt.  It's silly, stupid, and selfish, and I hate that I've made it this far without succombing to these types of emotions.  However, they are here, and I'd be a big fat liar if I didn't admit that I'm feeling them.  I talk all the time about being honest and real.  And this is how I'm honestly, really feeling:

I feel like no one is excited about Burke coming home.  I feel like it was more exciting for people when we were sure we were going to lose him.  I feel like Mike and I are left to do this all alone (the bringing home thing), because we used up all our support points during the bedrest.  I feel like our families are so worn out from the bedrest that they have no energy left to celebrate our newest member.  I feel like our house got neglected and our preparation plans got thrown out the window because of the stupid bedrest, and now I'm left with a cluttered, uncarpeted, unpainted house with a still unfinished basement.  And I'm bringing home a tiny little baby to this junk pit.

This was not how it was supposed to be.  I mean, I got jipped out of the normal experience with my first kid.  I thought for sure I'd get to experience all the fun stuff with my second.  (Like decorating a nursery, nesting through the house, or having a regular ol' baby shower for goodness sakes...)  I don't know why I even feel like these things are important.  They really aren't.  I just feel cheated.  Not by people, and not even by God.  I just feel like Mommies are supposed to get to experience certain things, and instead I got to experience the twisted messed-up version with BOTH of my kids.

And now I'm done.  No more kids.  No chance to decorate a cute nursery.  No chance to have a baby shower with my husband's family.  No chance to be discharged from the hospital at the same time as my child.  No chance to know what it's like to have a baby without becoming very good friends with NICU nurses.

I just feel so odd.  I can honestly say that, when I'm sane and non-hormonal, I really don't care about these things.  But for some reason, as the hour of discharge grows closer, I feel less and less ready to bring this little guy home.

Tonight, I needed someone to come help Mike carry our dresser downstairs.  I can't help, because I'm still under weight-lifting restrictions, because of the c-section.  I called to ask if my brother or my best friend's husband could come and help us out.  They sent another friend instead.  I feel selfish and stupid for even being upset about that.  It's just that I already feel so darn disconnected from our friends that it *hurts* that they couldn't take a quick twenty minutes to come help my husband move a small piece of furniture.

My parents are in town to help with the first few days of having Burke home.  I know they've got to be exhausted.  They have spent the last three weeks being virtual parents for Ruby, and I know (first-hand) that it's a tough job to be the parent of a 20-month-old.  Still...when they said they preferred to go to their hotel instead of hanging out with me, I felt so alone.

And as I sit here and stare at the piles of mail that need to be sorted and the pieces of furniture that need to be arranged and the clothes that need to be put away, I just want to run away from it all.  I want to take my husband, my daughter, and my son and just run away...from my house, from my family, from my friends, from everything.

This is what I mean when I say that I am at the end of my rope.  I really, really, really need my life to return to normal very soon.  I can't take this any longer.

Thank you , God, for delivering me right when I most need deliverance.

(Sorry for the supremely depressing post.  I just needed to de-tox my mind.  After many tears and all these words, I'm feeling re-juvenated...ready to sort mail, put away toys, and fold clothes.  Whew...)