What the Hell
Dad Bod and Dough
Raising a middle school girl is something else.
One minute she’s got opinions about everything, rolling her eyes like she’s seen it all before…
and the next, she’s still figuring out how to be in the world.
Somewhere along the way, my T-shirts started disappearing.
At first it was one or two.
Then a few more.
Now… I’m pretty sure half my wardrobe lives in her room.
And the thing is — she’s got her own clothes.
Plenty of them.
Proper ones.
Ones that fit.
All the girly T-shirts you’d expect.
But no…
she wants mine.
Oversized.
Falling off one shoulder.
Way too big for her.
“ That T-Shirt look oddly familiar”
I asked her once:
“Why mine?”
She just shrugged.
“They’re more comfortable.”
That was it.
No big explanation.
No deep meaning.
Just… comfortable.
But I get it.
Because it’s not really about the T-shirts.
It’s about:
something familiar
something safe
something that still feels like home
Some nights she’s all independence.
Doors closed.
World figured out.
Other nights…
“Can you stay for a bit?”
And suddenly, she’s back to being small again.
That’s the thing no one tells you.
They don’t grow up all at once.
They go back and forth.
Strong one minute…soft the next.
And somewhere in between all of that…
My wardrobe quietly disappears.
I don’t even mind anymore.
She can take every last T-shirt I’ve got.
“What do I wear ?”
Because one day…she won’t need them.
And I’ll probably find them folded up somewhere,
left behind without me even noticing when it happened.
So for now…
she can keep them.
Every oversized, worn-out, too-big piece of me.
Because maybe…
they’re not just T-shirts.
Maybe they’re just her way of saying:
“I still need you…
just not in the same way as before.”Raising a daughter.
Raising a business.
And occasionally raising Hell when necesarry
