My sweet little Michael was less than six pounds when he was born. Now, he's 40.25 inches and 35 pounds. He loves to take his clothes off and declare "I'm naked." Thankfully, he has limited this nudity to our home for the present.
At a year old, he was so sweet and cute. I'm not sure when his stint as toy terrorist began, but recently, he has gotten much better at sharing and playing together with his brothers. He does still like to deliver instructions to any and all comers. He is very adept at repeating my instructions to his brothers. He likes to be in charge and direct what's going on, and occasionally, he actually will get his two cohorts to comply. Although he is baby B, he's definitely our alpha dog.
Michael is the world's second slowest eater (Aunt Faith holds the record for most annoy consumption of sustenance). He will sit for hours eating one strawberry after the other, chewing it fully, and then moving on to the next one. He is willing to sit on the potty and will stay there for a long time if necessary. He has pooped on the potty, but usually he has spent a minimum of 15 minutes waiting before he will fill the frog potty and make his tinkle music. He does have some of his mother's strange OCD tendencies such as eating only one item at a time on his plate (why mix food groups, no need to get those tastebuds confused) and needing random things to be orderly - he lines up all kinds of toys for hours on end.
Of all the fighting that is done between the boys (which is not as often as it sometimes seems), Michael and James throw down the most. The two of them will go at it until there is a clear winner or both of them have been redirected. I know that boys fight, but I do wish they weren't so violent about it. They do manage to work together as a team very well, despite a little fighting.
I love this picture of Michael. It is a face a mother loves to kiss. He is a great cuddler. He will sit next to you and watch a movie or take over my mahjong game, flash this smile and get whatever he wants. He is constantly referring to himself in third person. I think that "me" just doesn't give him the individuality he craves. He is my mimic. He praises himself, says things, and does things a lot like I do. When we pick up toys, he is careful to sort things into the proper baskets, and when I was so bold as to put the Toy Story hot wheels with the Cars toys, he promptly removed them because they didn't belong in the Cars box. What can I say, when he's right, he's right.
I think that Michael is a wonderful kid with a sweet heart. He likes to learn, play puzzles, he can entertain himself for hours (his biggest fights with his brothers occur over them trying to play with toys that he has been dominating for longer than they would prefer). He is usually the last out of the bed in the morning and will admit that he is scared to climb out of his bed even though he can do it 99 times out of 100 without hurting himself. If you catch him in the right mood, he will follow along with the gang or lead it into horse broom races, reckless jumping on the bed, and swimming/bathing for literally hours. I love it when he comes up and holds my hand. He is always quick to tell me that he loves me accompanied by a great hug and kiss and declare me a princess. I'm a lucky Mommy.