I did not expect to be this kind of mom.

I expected to be a mom who breathed a sigh of relief every night after putting a baby to bed. Not the kind who sneaks in his room to watch him sleep every time my husband goes outside or takes a shower.

I expected to be a mom who reveled in my career, using it as an opportunity to break away from diapers and feel normal again. Not the kind who pulls up photos of my baby every hour and counts the minutes until I can see him again.

I expected to be scared of the outside world, to hole up at home and avoid taking him in public at any cost. Instead, we're in the woods, at the neighborhood pub, in the water, at the zoo. It's normal life, just enhanced with an extra family member.

I expected to be thrilled with the passing of time. I thought every day that passed would be one day closer to weaning him and teaching him to use the toilet. But here I am, the thought that every moment is one I'll never get back at the forefront of every decision.

I expected to be me, but with a kid on the side. I didn't expect that his very existence would unlock something sacred and fierce within me. But here we are.