My daughter has been sleeping in a bed for some time, but she still insists on being plucked off the bed every morning in a fashion similar to when she was in a crib.
Yesterday morning I entered her bedroom and was greeted by a befuddled look.
“Daddy, why are you wearing that stripy shirt?” she 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 her up.
“No, Daddy,” she 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 her face and knew she meant business. And she was 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, Clara smiled and said, “That’s better, Daddy. Now we can go.”
She’s three years old and already dictating the clothing choices of the man in her life.
