My father wrote me a letter recently, and in it he sentimentally named me “little one“. I am turning 33 and he still called me little one. As I have my own family now, our relationship with its natural ebbs and rises has developed into more of a friendship and mentorship than anything else. But this tender name helps me to remember that he was an adult when I was a baby, and he has lived much more of this life than me. It resonates with me and makes me think about my own little ones.

Little ones have little hearts that are easily crushed, but quickly mended with the right affection and kindness. Little ones have believing minds and moldable thoughts and their trust can be simply broken. Little ones are vulnerable and need protecting; they need their big people to watch for danger.

My little ones are all of these and I quite often forget that I was once a little one. And as my father reminds me, I still am. I am still in need of kindness and a mended heart. I still need my trust in others fulfilled and I am often exposed and unguarded.

I still remember being little. I remember the things that worried my tiny heart and scared me in the dark. I remember feeling the loneliness that is inevitable in childhood and the sting of hurtful words. I remember needing my parents and not being able to fathom life without them (I still can’t). I remember my comfort rituals (arranging my animals and dolls on my bed at night, sleeping with my one special stuffed dog). I remember the hate-love-love-hate feelings that sisterhood brings. I remember missing my family if I was apart but enjoying a piece of independence at the same time.

I remember this, and I cannot forget that my two little ones are just the same. I should not interfere with my daughters’ comfort rituals even if I don’t see the value in her stuffed dog sleeping in its own pillow-house by her bed. I need to take the time to recognize the “littleness” of my girls and the tender places in them. There is no need to toughen them; they’ve been created soft and the world will bash them around enough when they are older. They are my little ones that I have been given to protect.

Thank you, Daddy, for reminding me that I was once a little one, and in your eyes, I still am. You have helped to remind me of the softness and tenderness of my own two little ones.