Just something I wrote for Papa....
I would describe being a little as becoming extremely vulnerable. When I'm little I can be either very easily frightened, or extremely excitable...sometimes both. I see the world differently...for better or worse, I don't know. But when I am little, whether I feel adventurous or clingy, my hand always stretches back toward Papa's.
Though I am not a daddy, when I see Papa, I see strength. To be a daddy is to be strong.
I'm unsure how strong my papa thinks he is, but I view him as a hero of sorts. He is strong, let gentle. He understands my vulnerability, and often the fragility of my heart when in little space. He knows that I don't need him to fix anything—I just need him.
My papa is kind and compassionate...especially toward me. When I am frightened into little space and can barely breathe, barely think, and can hardly speak except to apologies for my very existence, Papa simply holds me close, telling me that it's okay, until I'm finally able to believe his quiet words.
As I curl into his side, murmuring softly that I am little and I need my papa, he gently pulls me into his lap, telling me that his princess can always have her papa.
I am his kitten, his princess, his cutie, and his babygirl. I am his shy, nervous, confident, outgoing, goofy, serious, contradiction. But for all the ways I am a contradiction, I am his. He loves me.
When I look up into his eyes and into his soul, I am amazed at the softness of his heart. I am simply amazed at him—my papa.
When I climb into his lap and sleepily tuck my head under his chin, I doze off knowing two important truths:
1. I am Papa's.
2. Papa is mine.