Nobody’s told her yet that girls wear pink and boys wear blue. That girls can’t do maths or write science fiction or play football. She doesn’t know about war and famine. Of hating someone just because they are different to you. No one’s told her to be quiet, to not be so demanding just for speaking up and voicing her needs. No one’s told her to feel embarrassed for farting loudly, or wanting to hug her mummy or that she should be a size 8. She isn’t on a bell curve yet or measured against the population to see if she’s too smart or not smart enough. Right now, she has no labels at all. No performance reviews. No deadlines. No expectations placed upon her (well almost none!)

And I’m really sad that one day I’m going to explain all that shit to her.