You’ve been sleeping in a bed for some time, but you still insist on being plucked off the bed every morning in a fashion similar to when you were in a crib.
Yesterday morning I entered her bedroom and was greeted by a befuddled look.
“Daddy, why are you wearing that stripy shirt?” you asked.
“I dunno,” I said. “It was clean. Do you like it?”
“I like the stripes, but it’s too big. It makes your belly pop out. Go change.”
I laughed and reached to pick you up.
“No, Daddy,” you said, pushing me away. “Go change your shirt and then come back and get me.”
I laughed again, but this time I saw the look on your face and knew you meant business. And you were right. The shirt was a little big, a relic of a time long since past, so I returned to my closet and changed my shirt.
When I reentered the room, you smiled and said, “That’s better, Daddy. Now we can go.”
You’re three years old and already dictating the clothing choices of the man in your life.
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