Just love me. I may not ask you. I’m might even run from a kiss because I’m bigger, and lots of children don’t want lipstick on them or for their friends to think they’re a baby. I might not play with dolls or dress up, I might not want to hang out at the mall with you, in case there are boys I know there.
I might roll my eyes and want to stay up or out late. I might think I’m entitled, expect you to do everything for me. You probably think that I think I know more than you. You’re probably right. I might talk back, won’t put down a phone or tablet, might balk at coming to the dinner table.
But no matter what, just love me. I will remember, I promise. Not the obligatory, see I know a big word, and the quick ” I love you. ” That’s typical. But we are special, we are supposed to be becoming or already be daughters of the King, right?
Well, then, stop me sometimes for a big squishy hug in hallway, only God will see. Put a note in my lunch, I’ll read it. Ask me what’s going on, sometimes, don’t just listen. Pay attention to me. I need you to love me, don’t get too busy. Don’t be too tired, try not too get to mad at me. Make me pick up my clothes and room, clean the bathrom.
I’m spoiled, I can be rotten. But I’m still a child no matter how big I am, and not matter what I say? Just love me. And the child inside me will still love you. Rebecca Jones