5 Things I Want My Daughter to Know

At 21, my body is in that phase where everything I think about concerns children.

Well, not everything. But a great deal.

I see babies in strollers and I get the urge to tear up because I can’t wait to push my own baby in a stroller. I can’t wait to be pregnant, to see my baby for the first time, to be a mother.

I know, I know. I’m probably romanticising it way too much. Something tells me, though, that as exhausting as being a mother can be, I’ll never regret it.

I can’t imagine loving someone as much I know I will love my children, and it brings me immense joy to realise that I might even raise them with an amazing feminist man. *melts*

However, there are worries as well.

What will my children’s world look like? Will there be climate wars? Will there be poverty? Hunger? Will they suffer at the hands of others? Will they be bullied? Will they… the list goes on and on.

I’m scared for my little people who I haven’t even made into existence yet.

I picked the name for my daughter when I was about twelve. I’m still set on it. When she’s born and gets to grow up in this strange world, here are five things I will make sure she knows.

She doesn’t have to come out to me

When she asks me why some people have two daddies or two mummies, I’ll explain to her that love is love. That no matter who you fall in love with, your feelings are valid.

I’ll tell her I will always love her and support her, whatever gender she wants to marry — or if she doesn’t want to marry, I’ll support her too.

When she’s a teenager, she won’t have to sit me down and have that conversation. She can just come home and say, “Mum, this is my partner.”

I’ll say it’s nice to meet them, and I’ll make them tea. I’ll chat with them for a bit… although, now that I think about it, they’ll probably be too busy making out in her bedroom.

Nobody cares about mums wanting to chat when there are teenage hormones in the picture.

Oh well.

She’s just as capable as her brother

And as her father, her male classmates, any man in this world.

She can be a scientist, a chief engineer, a truck driver. She can play football, wear baggy shorts, play video games, wrestle with her brother.

She doesn’t have to. But she can. And she should know that.

She’s just as smart as men, just as capable, just as strong.

Chores in our house won’t be the responsibility of women, as it was when I was growing up.

Everyone has a part to play. Everyone is equal. Your gender doesn’t come with a blue or a pink permit telling you what you are and aren’t obliged to do.

She can choose to be pink, blue or lavender, but she still has to do the dishes if her brother did them the last time.

No playing favourites.

There’s strength in femininity

Growing up, there was a trend that ‘girly girls’ were lame and ‘boyish girls’ were cool.

However, being a ‘boyish girl’ left you unprotected from the wolves — adults kept asking you questions. Why aren’t you more of a girl, why don’t you wear dresses, why don’t you play with dolls?

‘Girly girls’, on the other hand, were laughed at for their girliness by their peers. Pink was the colour everyone hated. Every girl who wanted to be a princess was at the same time big-headed and full of herself.

It was a mess.

For most of my life, I preferred to be girly. I liked the idea of being a princess, I loved playing with barbie dolls and watching barbie films, I was fascinated by make-up and periods. I still avoided the horrifying pink colour, however — I didn’t want to be too girly.

I want my daughter to know that there is strength in femininity. That she can dress all pink, with big skirts and glitter on her face, and she can still be smart, fierce and independent.

Princesses can kick ass too.

Being a girl doesn’t mean being weak. Gentleness is strength, vulnerability is strength, seeing the beauty in everything is strength.

No matter what kind of woman she chooses to be (if she ends up identifying with her sex), she’s strong, valid and beautiful in her womanhood.

It’s okay to like girly things. I say that as a former One Direction superfan.

She can achieve anything

Well, maybe not anything. I don’t want to make her think like she can climb Mount Everest tomorrow if she chooses to.

But I want her to know that if she works hard, she can achieve her goals. She can be a winner, a content human being, someone who believes in themselves.

Her potential is immense. All she needs to do is enjoy life, explore and work hard when she needs to.

If she comes up to me at thirteen saying she wants to move away and study in a foreign country, as I did, I’ll say, ‘sure. Let’s work it out together!”

I love her very much

My mum has been very affectionate with her children, and I cherish this quality of hers a lot.

Thanks to her, I feel at ease when I express love. I hug my friends, I tell them how much they mean to me, I compliment people and I’m not too afraid to appear vulnerable.

I want my daughter to feel the same. She doesn’t have to hide her love behind jokes or silent gestures. She doesn’t have to cringe when she sees sincerity.

I want her to be able to connect to the rawness of emotions and to feel okay expressing them with me.

I want her to love and not be scared to show it.

I’m sure having children will be a lot about trial and error. I won’t be perfect, as much as I wish I was.

I won’t always say the right words or do the right thing.

But I’ll do my best.

I’ll try to raise my children in such a way that they’ll feel as if equality was normal. Which it should be.

I’ll raise them to believe in themselves and to go after their dreams. I’ll show them that it’s okay to open oneself up and to love, to love purely and to love without boundaries.

I’ll tell them there’s always beauty in the world. There’s power in gratitude.

I’ll do my best. And I hope that’s enough.

This article was originally published here.