More and more often lately, I’ve been thinking about how I want a daughter. I’ve always imagined myself having a daughter at some point in my life. Always a daughter, I don’t know why.
I’ve been thinking of her lately. What she’ll be like, who she’ll be. How I’ll raise her, how I’ll get to watch her grow up and grow older. It fills my heart with this quiet and, inexplicably, somewhat sad joy. I wonder who her father will be, if we’ll raise her together, and where she will be raised. I think of how beautiful she’ll be. Her eyes, her hair, her little hands and feet that I made in my own body. I think of how I’ll hold her to my breast, feed her, rock her, and coddle her. I think of how I’ll love her more than anything I’ve ever loved in this world. How, when I see her for the first time, all my other great loves will fade to a dull background buzz, and she will be the centre of my universe. I can’t wait for it. I can’t wait to grow her little life in my belly and give birth to her. I can’t wait to nurse her, change her, stay up all night with her. I can’t wait to be her mom and to show her how utterly loved she is. Right from the moment she’s born. Even before she’s born. I can’t wait to feel her little body lying on my chest, knowing she is completely and entirely safe with me. I can’t wait for her to wrap her little fingers around my big one and hold tight, like she will never let go.
I can’t wait to watch her plump little body grow into a toddler. I think of how she’ll crawl, walk, run, and jump. I wonder who she will be. I wonder about the things that will pique her interest. Will she like to read? Will she like colourful things? Will she have eyes from which it feels like all the light in the world shines? Will she be independent? Sassy? Bossy? Will she be short-tempered? Gentle? Kind? Will she reach for my hand when she’s afraid? Will she be brave? Adventurous? I’m so curious about her. I wonder if she’ll smile at me coyly, mischievously. I wonder if she’ll have a glint in her eye, like a little prankster. I wonder if she’ll smile at me with all her heart, little dimples on her cheeks. I wonder if she’ll ever know just how much I love her and what I’d do for her.
I can’t wait to raise her. I can’t wait to see her curious mind experience the world for the first time. I can’t wait to re-experience the world through her eyes. I wonder what she’ll make of it all. I wonder about the kinds of conversations we’ll have when she’s a child. Will she ask a lot of questions? Just “but why, but why, but why?” over and over again? I can almost picture it. Me holding her, hugging her, loving her with all my heart. Me giving her everything I never had and more. Me trying to be constantly perceptive of her needs and not my wants for her. I can’t wait for my universe to revolve around this little girl.
I imagine myself letting her take the lead. I’m the parent and she’s the child. I love her in the way she wants to be loved, the way she needs to be loved. I sacrifice my expectations of what kind of child I’d like her to be, and I just let her be. I just let her be the glorious, wonderful, beautiful person that she is. I hold her loosely, but dearly. The world will be her playground. I want to teach her to take risks, be independent, and let her scrape her elbows and knees sometimes. But I want her to know that she always has a safe base to return to. Me. And I won’t judge her, hold her to harsh standards, or force my desires on her. With me, she’s always safe to be herself. Wholly and completely.
I can almost see her in my mind’s eye—this little girl. I see brown curly hair and warm, dark eyes. She’s a little sassy, like her mother is. She’s funny. She’s exceptionally smart. But most of all, she’s loved. And she knows it as if it’s one of the fundamental truths of her life. She will be so loved. And I can’t wait to meet her.
22 November 2025
Memoirs of a Muse 