I’d just told a colleague about our impending bundle of joy. He congratulated me, mentioning how cool it is to be a dad, then looked with a knowing smile.
“So those clothes you’re wearing…”
“Ya?”
“Get used to them.”
And boy, have I. I’m starting to understand that “I’m a dad” is code for “I have holes in my shoes and will bring leftovers to work for lunch, no matter how disgusting they were for dinner”. This kid comes before my fashion and dietary needs; its just what you do when you’re a dad (or dad to be in my case).
Truth be told, I’m kind of glad that we’ve had to tighten our proverbial belts (I say proverbial because Lord knows my sympathy weight has resulted in a bit of belt loosening). I’m now in league with poor dad’s the world over, who wear free shirts from cases of beer and swag they’ve picked up at conferences; men who know the value of a dollar.
I look forward to the future embarrassment this will cause. Kids shouldn’t have parents who are too cool anyway. Thankfully for my daughter, there’s no danger of that happening to her father any time soon.
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