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Brittany L. Bergman

Savoring motherhood, building marriage, and living simply

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Stealing Joy

Dec 21 5 Comments

Right around this time two years ago, I was expecting my first child. One of my biggest fears was that I would get sick right before my daughter was born, leaving me contagious and unable to kiss her tiny lips or breathe in the scent of her newborn cheeks. I was due around Advent season, which also meant the advent of cold and flu season, so my fears weren’t unfounded. And sure enough, I caught strep throat for the first time in my life just a week before my due date, and in one swift moment, my joy was replaced by fear. Will I be too tired and sick to get through labor? Will I need to wear a mask around my fragile new baby? Will these first few days with my child look painfully different than I imagined?

The happy ending to this story is that I ended up being two weeks overdue—plenty of time for my husband (who caught my germs) and me to take our full course of antibiotics and rest up for the big event. My daughter was born healthy, and I was healthy enough to enjoy her fully, no mask needed as I kissed her fingers and her cheeks and the top of her head.

But despite the overwhelming, effervescent joy I felt at my daughter’s birth, I found that new fears were always lurking in the shadows, ready to steal away my precious slivers of joy. I worried that she would stop breathing in her sleep, and I’d tiptoe over to her bassinet to watch the rise and fall of her tiny chest. I fell headfirst into frustration when I couldn’t get her to sleep at night, even after walking, rocking, bouncing and shushing with every bit of maternal instinct I had. I wept all day on Christmas as I struggled to boost my milk supply, heartbroken that this might be the end of the road for our breastfeeding journey.

But even now, two years later, I still find that joy thieves are all around me. Of course, that Christmas was a particularly tender and painful time. I was a brand new mom facing sleep deprivation and unpredictable waves of hormones, and the weird combination of anger, love and ferocity that came with it. especially at Christmas. I’m guessing if you’re human, you might sense them in your life, too. There is too much pressure at this time of year to engineer actual magic for our kids, too many expectations to live up to, and a family who is too human to match the Currier & Ives print we have in our heads.

During that Christmas as a first-time mom, I realized I needed to be a joy thief, to steal back little moments wherever and whenever I could. It was my act of resistance to the fear and doubt and overwhelm. I was struggling to overcome it, but instead of flailing my arms and legs in an ocean of uncertainty, I could grab onto the tiny life preservers all around me.

I still do this, actually—I hunt for moments the way a photographer hunts for the perfect detail shot. When I find them, I capture them, holding the colors and scents and sounds in my mind, letting them crystallize into memories. A flash of light from the Christmas tree in our front window as we pull up to the house after a long night. Lingering around the fire a little longer with my family, their voices rising and falling around me. Kissing my daughter’s sticky marshmallow hands as she pretends to share one of her treasures, yanking it back at the last minute and giggling at my surprise.

I’m all for the idea of simplifying Christmas—releasing ourselves from much too busy schedules, saying no to a huge gathering in favor of something more intimate and quiet, resisting the consumer culture by limiting gifts, or by giving experiences instead. But even these good intentions can create a holiday pressure-cooker situation, as we try once again to nail the happy-clappy Christmas that has always eluded us.

So let’s be even more subversive this year, not by trying to conjure up the perfect holiday, but by soaking up the one we already have—the one that maybe feels a little too busy or too noisy or too lonely, the one that’s never quite merry or bright enough. Let’s look for and steal moments of joy, catching them like snowflakes and stopping to admire them before they can melt away.


This piece was originally posted over at The MOPS Blog, a site I love and contribute to regularly.

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Filed Under: Life, Motherhood Tagged With: advent, anxiety, christmas, fear, holidays, joy, pregnancy, simple living

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brittanylbergman

Brittany L. Bergman
The last day of school hit different this year. 💔 My tears at kindergarten graduation were not about how my first baby is growing up too fast. They were tears of gratitude that she’s growing up at all—something that should not feel spectacular, but does.

Swipe for some first day/last day comparisons and an outtake that I adore. 💜
There was a huge, complete rainbow outside Eamon’s bedroom window after his birthday party, and I can’t think of a better celestial celebration for our rainbow baby/big boy. 🌈
Our little Eamon baby is 3! 🎉 Though he will be Our little Eamon baby is 3! 🎉 Though he will be the first to tell you that he is not a baby—he is Eamon Boy, and he is a big kid.

Eamon is sweet and wild and silly and will do anything for a laugh, instantly charming everyone he meets. He is just as likely to tackle you as he is to request a hug and a kiss.

Eamon talks all the time and stretches out the last word of every sentence like it’s a question, but he also loves to communicate with roars and growls. No surface or object is safe around him, as he climbs and jumps off everything and will declare anything from a pillow to a plate his “rock” and throw it like he’s an Earth Giant in Frozen (we’re working on it).

He is obsessed with Dan, smitten with Selah, and thinks I’m just okay, at best—but he is my best buddy if the other two are unavailable.

This past year, Eamon went to Six Flags, Lake Geneva, and Disney World, and he has mastered his balance bike. Basically, he always wants to go fast and/or get as close to flying as possible.

Eamon, you are pure joy and delight, the brightest ray of sunshine, and the dreamiest rainbow baby. Happy birthday, my sweet boy! ☀️🌈💜
Or, “What does it say about me that the first po Or, “What does it say about me that the first poem I’ve written in a year is a list of things that make up my personal hell and I actually had to cut this down because I had so many/too many thoughts on the topic?” It’s fine, everything is fine.
This year was absolutely brutal. It also facilitat This year was absolutely brutal. It also facilitated some of the best decisions of my life, many born out of deep pain. Starting a new job, because the old one no longer fit. Getting vaccinated, to protect myself and others as we muddle through another pandemic year. All but quitting writing and social media, because I simply didn’t want to do it anymore. Most importantly, starting on Zoloft, because I needed it desperately. Those tiny blue pills quite literally saved my life.

The first half of 2021 was one of my darkest seasons, and the second half—thanks to modern medicine and my own intuition and the possibility of remote work, thanks to Selah starting kindergarten and me taking care of myself and being able to look at my kids and truly delight in them for the first time in a long time—was one of my happiest ever.

Holding both halves tenderly as we cross this next threshold. 💜
Selah Marie is 6! She started kindergarten this ye Selah Marie is 6! She started kindergarten this year and firmly entered world of big kids. Her confidence in every area has skyrocketed, from climbing her new playground to sounding out words to talking to new friends. She blows us away every day with her kind heart, generous spirit, and innate sense of empathy. She is tenderhearted, curious, affectionate, and hard to impress, and we adore her more every day. Happy birthday, Selah! 🧁 🎉 💜
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