People said a lot of strange things to me during that year struggling to conceive; most of which I chalked up to the the fact that most people just didn't know what to say. I've been that person, too, at times- one really wanting to comfort or encourage, but at a loss as to how to do so.

In that year most people cheered us on; many asked questions; others said nothing at all. But all of them cried happy tears when they heard our good news. So I believe all of it came from a good place.

If you're new around here, let me take a moment to introduce my first born. While not my biological child, this fur baby we call Henry was perhaps my first real love. For many years I happily referred to him as my soul mate. In terms of dogs, you just can't get much better.

He's a love. He's protective- but only when he needs to be. He's easy. He naps and chills. He's active when you want him to be. He's cuddled me through Sunday Scaries. He was my baby when I struggled to be a mom. 

They say that as a mom, there are some days that you'll  feel like you can barely get out of your pjs and brush your teeth; while other days you feel like you can rule the world.

For me, most days are somewhere in between- Maddie will always be fed, she has a daily bath, and most of the time (thanks to Nana) she'll be  dressed to the nines; whereas you can usually find me in sweats, rarely getting half way through a cup of coffee before it turns ice cold.

But somehow yesterday was one of my more productive days...

Before Maddie was born, my mother had a dream about her future granddaughter.  I was mid-way through my pregnancy and knee-deep in envisioning what my daughter would someday be like.  Who would she look like? What would she smell like? Would she be happy or fussy or somewhere in between? Would she be gifted with our best qualities or cursed with our worst? 

It's a conversation we'd have often- a guessing game with no real right answer, other than to have a healthy baby girl.

In her dream, my mother's reverie painted the picture of a free-spirited blondie- a girly-girl twirling her skirt, dancing barefoot on the grass; with not a care in the world. She called me the next morning to share her predictions of my little one- giggling to herself as she imagined this carefree foil to my very tightly wound self. I think it made her the perfect combination of both nervous for me and slightly satisfied- the way grandmothers can sometimes feel when their daughter's first discover what it's like to grapple with their own children's personalities. {Some might call it karma.}

And it made me somewhat nervous too, at the time.

If I've learned anything about motherhood in the last year it's that just when you start to get comfortable it will throw you a curveball that will set you right in your place.

I caught one of those curveballs in the early months when my little one first tried rolling over during a routine diaper change. That day I quickly learned that the changing table was no longer a safe place, and, from that moment on, would forever required the upmost attention {and very quick hands}.

Yesterday was one of those learning days.

Mother’s Day is almost here. This year being my first as a mom.

Up until now, I ascribed to the notion that this day was just another Hallmark Holiday. A day for us to send flowers, buy a nice card, or maybe a gift certificate to the spa.

But I now know that its so much more than that- more than macaroni art from a Kindergartener or a piece of jewelry from Tiffany’s.

When I first had my Madeline Mae, I was told the same adage over and over:

The days are long but the years are short.

What? I didn’t get it at first; but now that ten months have passed in the blink of an eye, I do.

Days are long: They are tired. They are caffeine-fueled. They are spit-up filled. They are sometimes showerless. They are comprised of missteps and learning opportunities. And they are exhausting. But, boy, do they go by fast.

I’ve gone back and forth as to what I will ask for this Mother’s Day- fantasizing about my very first one in the early morning haze of motherhood...

This past weekend was pretty perfect- the sun was shining, we spent some much needed time outdoors, and Maddie Mae + I got to watch Dad coach his very favorite sport. We also enjoyed our first good old fashion bbq of the year- complete with delish margaritas, family + friends.

It's weekends like these that make me stop to count our lucky stars, and feel humbled by how blessed I really am. 

Here are five things I'm currently {extra} grateful for:

I started this blog a little over a year ago- the February of my pregnancy, four months before Maddie Mae arrived. I founded L + L as a creative outlet; a way to focus my energy during a not-so-great pregnancy. I had hoped blogging about cute baby clothes and fun recipes would take my mind off of the Morgan-shaped divot I was creating in our bed while I watched Netflix and waited for the little one to arrive. Shockingly, the worries and mandatory rest that consumed my pregnancy left me wholly uninspired, and not such a great writer.

I was also entirely too afraid. Way too scared to voice the fears about my first, fragile pregnancy to the world.

OK, that's dramatic- at that point only my mother and husband would have read them. The world would have had better things to do. But you get the point: I couldn't muster up the courage to put pen to paper, and Lilies + Lambs was barren as could be for several months.

Hello, my name is Morgan, and I bottled feed my baby. And, what's more: I'm not ashamed of it.

My milk never came, so I can't say this was much of a choice. The decision not to torture myself with lactation consultants, pumping, and triple feeding on the other hand, was.

I tried a week. That's right- just one week, before I threw in the towel, and decided to stop forcing my body to try to do something it might not ever do. The decision was difficult- gut wrenching, in fact, for a person who didn't buy a single bottle before her baby arrived; confident she would breast feed for months, or maybe even a year.

Seven month ago, just two and a half months into motherhood, I wrote about the ten things that had made my transition into life as a mom as smooth as it could be.

I stressed the importance of laughter; of taking pictures and asking for help. I encouraged myself and other new moms to take time for ourselves; and to sweat as soon, and as often, as possible. And I made a pact to be patient- not only with myself, but with my husband and child as well.

Now, almost ten months a mom, I look back on this list and I still firmly believe in all of these mantras. 

Being a mom has been a dream of mine since I was a child. My mother stayed home with us four kids - yikes, 4?! Hers was the first face I saw in the morning. She cooked us breakfast, drove us to school, and picked us up at the end of each day. She watched our week-day sporting events, brought us forgotten projects, was there for every afternoon concert, and cooked us a hot meal every day. She was so happy to do it; and it showed. It appeared effortless for her. It was her calling, for sure. Her joy in it was infectious. We were thick as thieves, and I always knew I wanted to be there for my own daughter in that very same way

Sports have been a part of my life since the day I was born.  

My mother and grandmother were stellar tennis players. My grandfather was the Varsity football coach at Homestead High School- Alma mater of one Steve Jobs. And my father was an incredible baseball player; just like his father before him. So it's fair to say athletic prowess runs in the family. 

I have always been a fairly decent athlete. I swam and played tennis since the moment I could walk. I made it to Counties in breaststroke, and won the coaches award for synchronize swimming- laugh if you will, but that sport takes coordination. I played lacrosse and field hockey in high school, and was club tennis champion at the age of fourteen. I've always been athletically decent; I've never been athletically AMAZING. 

My relationship with infertility is a tumultuous one.

Difficult as my road to motherhood was, in the scheme of things it was relatively short. Six months of trying on our own, seven months of IUIs and success after one round of IVF.

Throughout this struggle to conceive, I, sadly, encountered people that dismissed my struggles because of this brevity- comparing my "short" journey to their own, unfortunately, longer ones.

But I don't believe in ranking people's challenges- particularly when it comes to creating a family. Whether you struggle with infertility for seven months or seven years is irrelevant in my mind- it is an impossible pain to want to create a life and, for whatever reason, struggle to do so.

But boy, the fight is so worth it. 

Wow. Yesterday was a doozy.

It was the kind of day that made me want to crawl back in bed, and just wait for tomorrow come. But I'm a mom, and like that cold medicine commercial points out- we don't get days off. 

I graduated from college in 2007, at the ripe-old age of 23. I had a handsome boyfriend, parents that still provided a roof over my head, and I drove a BMW all the way from Atlanta to Santa Barbara- where I would live beach side for the next several years. I was young, carefree, and just a bit cocky; and I was blindly ignorant to the abyss of uncertainty the next few years would bring.

We decided to marry in a church. The Catholic Church we both grew up attending; the one my husband's parents were so involved with; where we were both baptized, and then our daughter after us. A beautiful, sentimental location for both of us; but it came at a few creative costs...