"Happy Mother's Day to you, Happy Mother's Day to you! Happy Birthday Mommy!"

When I peeked in on my son this morning, I was greeted with that, sung in tune, with a little help from Dad. That precious little voice is like none other in the world.

There are many things about Motherhood that I didn't expect.

I didn't expect to miss time for myself. I expected to want to be around my child all day, every day.

I didn't expect to feel like hitting my own child after he had hit me or bit me or screamed in my face, seemingly on purpose.

I didn't expect to loathe his whining and almost come unglued by it in moments of high-stress or personal emotional weakness.

I didn't expect to become so impatient over something so stupid, like putting away a toy or touching the monitor after explaining hundreds of times that it is off-limits.

I didn't expect to be bothered by my son's "Mommy only" policy most days.

I expected to want all of these things, to happily embrace them and gracefully accept them as part of the journey, especially because it took so long to get here. I expected to be an endlessly loving, incredibly kind, super patient, utterly compassionate, wonderfully everything sort of mom.

But, that is just not true, that is just not me, and I was naive for thinking it would be. Sometimes, I laugh at myself. And sometimes I scare myself by realizing what my limits actually are, rather than what I thought they'd be or what people or society implies they should be.

So, I'm not perfect. I'll be the first to admit it. I like time for myself when I can get it. I don't hurt my child, but still feel like I want to sometimes. I do loathe his whining, but have learned how to deal with it in a reasonable way so that he doesn't get what he wants, but it doesn't get on my nerves. I am increasingly patient and empathetic the more I become aware of how his little brain works, how his big emotions need help sorting out and how he views life from two-and-a-half-year-old eyes. I have grown to love his "Mommy only" moments, hours, days or weeks because I know they will not last.

And I also didn't expect some other things.

I didn't expect the beyond-words amount of love I have for this being who grew in another woman's tummy, but in my heart, and who is so excruciatingly beautiful that it almost hurts to look at him sometimes.

I didn't expect to love him more every day, to want to smother him in hugs and kisses and inhale every part of him before he grows up on me.

I didn't expect to enjoy the simple, mundane, everyday moments like preparing food he loves and eating it together, taking walks and talking about what we see, looking at all of his artwork from school and reading the little updates about him from his teachers, listening to him make sense of his world as he babbles away to me, being silly and laughing together, reading books together and listening to him finish the sentences and point out the items in the pictures.

I didn't expect to appreciate the capacity he has for imaginative play, for speech, for rhythm and for love. Every day, he does something that surprises me, whether it's a random kiss ("Kiss, Mommy!") or an apology for stepping on my toe when it didn't hurt at all; whether it's him wanting my help to change his baby's nappy and then giving her cuddles when she "falls" or it's watching him try to say goodnight to the cat and give her an unwanted hug; whether it's observing him pretending to drive, cook, clean, hike or swim, or just sleep. The little buko astonishes me - it's clear he's thriving and to know that I am the one who is helping him grow is intimidatingly amazing and pride-producing.

I didn't expect him to make me laugh so much. Every single day, there is something he does that makes me crack up laughing because it is just so irresistible.

I didn't expect him to love me unfailingly for me, all the way through, because he knows no other Mommy, because I am his world, because he trusts me and knows that I would do anything to protect him. I didn't expect his whole-hearted need for me.

I didn't expect to fall head over heels in love with this dark-haired, dark-skinned, incredibly handsome lovebug of a boy, full of personality, insane giggles, big feelings, hilarious clumsiness and envy-worthy boldness. And to miss him on the rare occasion when I don't get to read him books, give him kisses and say goodnight.

I love that he needs me. I love that he wants to be with me, play with me, show me things. I love that only I can be the one to hold his hand or read him books sometimes. I love that I am his comfort when he is sick and that he loves my strawberry, banana or blueberry pancakes with cinnamon. I love that he expresses his biggest emotions with me because it lets me know that he is comfortable with me, that he is secure enough to show them because he knows I will love him and accept him anyway. I love that he is my son and that I am his mom and that I tear up thinking about his toothy smile and bright eyes and adorable voice.

Some days, I wonder what I did to deserve such a blessing. I can't express how grateful I am for this boy.

I know his birthmother would be proud of all that he is growing up to be. Already. I think of her today, too. About all of her expectations - dashed or fulfilled. I think of her and I thank her for giving birth to my everything.