Music has piqued my daughter’s interest recently. Whilst I am not remotely musical, I love music and am always happier when I’m singing. When I was pregnant, I remember I was told that the baby could hear what was going on outside now, and that singing was a nice way of bonding, knowing that baby could hear the song. I don’t think belting out Bat Out Of Hell as I did the school run each day was what that advice was meant to suggest, but it worked for us.

I’ve never really censored my music around my daughter. From birth, she has been rocked to sleep to Frank Turner, Fleetwood Mac and George Michael. At one point when she was very small, Love My Life by Robbie Williams was the only song that would soothe her car seat protests. We’ve enjoyed nursery rhymes and more traditional children’s songs at playgroups and baby groups, but at home and in the car, I haven’t really pandered to this, and have just carried on as usual with my (questionable!) music choices. Sometimes, as a parent, necessity takes over, and I do recall managing to make Old Mac Donald last for about 45 minutes during a particularly stressful final leg of a car journey!

More recently though, I’ve become more aware of the music I choose, as my daughter has suddenly started listening. I mean really listening. This hit home when a little voice piped up from the back seat “Mummy, why’s that man singing about chasing a dragon?”. Deciding that this was not really an appropriate time to explain the nuances of such innuendo, I flailed for an answer, which she provided herself by telling me that it was very silly to chase a dragon, because she’d seen it on Ben & Holly. Phew. Crisis averted. Suede onto the “child free car trips” playlist.

My taste in music was heavily influenced by my parents, particularly my father. Growing up, there was always music on in the house, and this was usually always one of my dad’s CDs. To this day, he cannot abide a quiet home: “it’s like a bloody morgue in here” is his default statement pretty much before he’s even through the front door. I remember one summer I borrowed a cassette of Blur’s Country House from my auntie, and played it over and over, much to his distaste (he was an Oasis man. I was too young to understand it had to be one or the other!).

I think much of my exposing my daughter to “my music” stems from memories of my own childhood, and the comforting familiarity of songs and artists that I rolled my eyes at then. I want her to have that when she’s older. When a song just triggers that nostalgic feeling and it makes you smile for some reason that’s absolutely yours. Meatloaf’s Modern Girl always makes me smile because I think back to the dance my sister and I used to do to it (not the most obvious candidate for a dance routine for the under 10s, but we made it work). Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody always makes me feel slightly uneasy even now, because I remember the video freaking me out one Christmas. The Police’s Message In A Bottle immediately transports me back to bathtimes with my sister because that was our “hair washing song”.

These “hair washing songs” cannot be forced or contrived. They come from nothing, and in the best instances, nobody can quite remember why a certain song means a certain thing.

While I still remember, and in case she asks in years to come, some of what I suspect may be my daughter’s “hair washing songs” are as follows.

Frank Turner: Little Changes. This was the first of “my” songs you sang along with. You’d ask for it over and over. You once sang it to me all round Tesco when we went to visit your auntie. You changed it to “chocolate changes” because you wanted me to buy you some chocolate… and it worked.

Elton John: Rocket Man. Grandad introduced you to this one. You have a rocket pillow and grandad would fly your rocket and zoom it into you while he sang Rocket Man. You sing this one all the time when we’re in the car. You went into preschool a few weeks back singing it pretty much word perfectly. Just the chorus. Over and over. I came home that day and googled just to check that it wasn’t about a heroin trip. It’s not.

Elton John: I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues. This is my favourite of the songs you love right now. I didn’t really know what this was about so I looked up the lyrics and it’s basically about missing someone. That line “I simply love you, more than I love life itself.” That sums up how I feel about you better than I ever could myself. You sing “I guess that’s why they call it the warms” because it’s been really warm here recently, and we had a little game of changing that end word to various other colours etc. “The warms” is what’s stuck for you. You ask for “the blues song” and you’re giggling before it starts because you know when it gets to the chorus, you’re going to sing “the warms” and I’m going to react and you’ll laugh your head off.

Some of my favourite times with you at the moment are when we’re in the car together. You’re either requesting one of four Elton John songs that you can’t get enough of; or you ask “What’s this one all about, mum?” each time a new song starts. I love that you know that songs have stories in them, and they’re all about something. It’s pushed me to Google a few of them, and learn something new myself. I love how you pick out little lyrics that don’t make sense to you, and ask me why. I love not having the answers all the time, and throwing the question back at you, and seeing what you make of it. There is little that you don’t enjoy listening to at the moment, and I hope you stay so open minded. I’m looking forward to discovering more about the music that I know and love, and also about the music that I don’t yet know, by listening through your ears as well as my own. I love that we share this and I hope you never grow out of sharing music with your mum.

Your first gig was before your second birthday. We danced, and sang, and punched the air. And you revelled in it, the lights, the sounds, the atmosphere. Until you fell asleep, strapped to my chest, about halfway through. Where you stayed, sleeping while I danced and sang. I will always sing you to sleep my little one.