On girls.

I like girls names you can shorten and make slightly boyish. I like the names that start with A. Strong names, but also pretty. Names that you could find in a novel, perhaps. Not too typical. That sound good as they roll out of the mouth.

I imagine that if I had a daughter, I would try and keep her grounded. Of course she would be full of silliness and fall in love with little things like girls do, but I'd want her to be practical too. To know what she likes. To be healthy and happy and have a good head on her shoulders most of all.

I would send her on little trips, so she could make friends and stay outside all day and breathe in fresh air and scrape her knees and run around in the sunshine and swim all day. So she could sleep in bunk beds with new friends and learn to french-braid and have secret midnight feasts. This is the kind of thing (I think) that teaches you about people and the world and sets you in the right direction. Not to mention the outdoors, which is just so good for you.

I'd read her classics and poetry of course, but most of all I'd read her stories about magic so she could keep it with her as long as she could. Not just witches and wizards and fairies, but real-life magic. The kind that exists in ordinary people. I'd want her to know that her life would be full of it.

Anne of Green Gables, to teach her about how important it is to stick up for what is good but let her know it's okay to make mistakes as long as you try and fix them. Little House on the Prairie, so she could learn about growing up and having patience through your hardships and sisterhood and family and being happy with what you have. I'd read her Mallory Towers so she could learn about resolving conflict, about loyalty, about standing on her own two feet, about education and wise old headmistresses. And Little Women for so many reasons. I'd read her stories about strong, amazing girls who learn lessons and laugh all the time and work hard and have adventures and fall madly in love and help out their girlfriends when they're in a bind.

Hopefully she would have a brother, who would teach her about boys better than I ever could. (I knew virtually nothing about boys until I was 16 years old and that rarely worked in my favour.) I would try to teach her about love. I'd try my hardest to be a good example here. And offer advice when she needed it, but I would learn too. I'm sure I would learn more from her than I can even imagine now.

I'd tell her stories about her great, great grandmother and teach her how to make a mean chicken curry and pani walalu. I'd teach her all the little traditions so she could keep them alive, no matter how distant they seem.

I would show her Steve Martin and Bill Cosby and old Eddie Murphy shows. I'd have her listen to David Sedaris books on tape. I'd hope she would laugh. We would watch John Hughes movies, and somewhere between Duckie dancing to Otis Redding, and John Cusack driving through the rain, something would click with her. I would twirl her around the living room to 80's post punk music, and maybe (just maybe) she would have a soft spot for The Smiths for the rest of her life.

In this dream world, we wouldn't talk about weight or cellulite or diets. You know, all those things girls talk about that chip away at their characters and consume them to the point where they can't talk about anything else. We would eat wholesome things. We would bake caramel pudding like my mom does, and enjoy it, and we'd hit the library afterwards. We'd shop at the market. She wouldn't be one of those kids on Jamie Oliver shows who is completely unaware of what an eggplant is.

I'd give her my old journals and photo albums. Things that would make me cringe, but probably make her happy (if she's anything like me). I wish my mom had kept clothes and pictures! I always feel like I would know her better if I could see that stuff. My dad wrote a little, and reading what he thought at 19 is one of my favourite things to do.

I'd hope she would have long hair like mine, if nothing else. And the eyelashes. But most of all, the sense of adventure. I'd hope she would wonder at the world.