Geriatric motherhood, snow globes, and Scout Finch

Dear Hildegaard

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Dear Hildegaard,

While my friends were having babies, I was teaching high school English in California, then Oklahoma. Why I became a mom so late in life is complicated, and has more to do with circumstance than choice, but we can talk about that some other time. As a teacher, I had a great excuse to re-read the books and stories I loved most like To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, and Southern American writers like Eudora Welty and Flannery O’Connor. 

So many of my categories for life have been drawn from the images and characters I read about in literature. Today, you are swinging on the swing, talking about ghosts, and all I can see is Scout Finch, twirling on her tire swing, chatting with Dill. You are my Scout Finch: my very own brave, ornery girl, covered in dirt and freckles. 

As I push you higher and higher, I tell you why fall is my favorite season. You get to wear cozy sweaters, do crafts, drink hot cider, and celebrate Halloween. Oh yeah! you respond, as if an old soul, ready to get out your crochet hooks and yarn. What you are most excited about is dressing up and asking for candy from our neighbors. You weren’t quite two last year, and don’t remember much, so your enthusiasm is fresh, and growing.

I will be POOH BEAR, you exclaim. 

Then, a few minutes later: I will be a T-Rex!

After I tell you about how some kids dress as scary things, you decide on a ghost. 

I want to wear my blanket over my head and say ooOOoo.

You don’t want to wear just any blanket. You want to wear your blanket - the one with pink, blue, and yellow stripes - dingy from being ardently cuddled each night and dragged across the floor. It won’t be scary, but it will be you. You, who talk about bugs and excavators non-stop. You, with your round-face, always covered in dirt, chocolate, and a smile. When I look at you, I picture Scout walking home through crunchy, dead leaves in her ham costume. I wouldn’t bat an eye if you asked me to make you a ham costume. That would seem a very reasonable request coming from you. Sometimes, I even consider cutting your beautiful, long hair into Scout’s short, boyish bob. 

But you aren’t Scout and you aren’t me. You are wholly your own person. I know the nature v. nurture debate could go either way, but nature is strong with you. You have been Hilde since day one: newborn eyes fixed on every face you encountered. Taking it all in. Never dozing off from a chance to absorb something new. 

Today, I watch as you line up four plastic milk bottles, the ones I bought to go with the baby doll you rarely play with. Instead of feeding your doll, you take turns feeding each of your dinosaurs. Later, we snuggle on the couch with some apple slices and watch YouTube videos of beavers building their dams. You say let’s pretend our blankets are trees and wood, and we pile them up, pretending to build our own dam on the living room floor. To stop what, I’m not sure. That isn’t the part that matters. What matters is that you never stop learning, playing, and wondering. 

Maybe being an older mom isn’t ideal. I tire easily. I have regrets. I am not able to fill our house with an entire brood of siblings for you - only one - and right now you think he smells funny. But I think I treasure our time together more than I would have in my twenties. Maybe. Or at least, I have lived through enough to know how extraordinary this is. 

I don’t get to “read for fun” much anymore. No time between the needs of you and your brother. But I spent years reading, and not one author created a character quite like you. You are alien magic, stubbornly insisting on being yourself, without even realizing that is what you are doing. I would like to capture you in a bottle, turn it into a snow globe, and forever watch you twirl in the cotton of winter. Instead, I will soak up the now with you, knowing how fleeting it is, and how terribly grateful I am for each snuggle on the couch, each push on the swing, and every question you ask me, with eyes open wide.