It's going to be a while before I find out whether or not Michael is left-handed or right-handed. It's going to be even longer before Molly and I learn whether he is a power hitter or slap-hitting speedster.
One thing we already know is that he loves to be nude.
Molly had warned me about this a while ago, but it wasn't until Monday, while listening to some Bruce Springsteen, that I truly understood.
When Michael has cried, it usually meant one of three things: he was hungry, he needed to be changed, he was tired.
The tired cry just doesn't have his heart in it.
The changing cry is high-pitched.
The hungry cry builds slowly and sounds more angry.
On Monday, I couldn't figure out why Michael was crying. I tried to feed him. Nothing.
He was too animated to be tired. So I plopped him down on the changing table.
That's when things got interesting.
As soon as his clothes were off, he stopped crying.
"Oh, his diaper must really need to be changed," I thought.
Then I undid his diaper. Dry as a bone. Clean as could possibly be.
I started to put the diaper on him and he whimpered a bit.
He went nuclear when I pulled his shirt down over his head.
So I pulled the shirt off.
I wasn't going to take the diaper off and leave the changing table unprotected.
And Michael was fantastic.
He screeched along as The Boss sang "Human Touch" and "Atlantic City." I laughed.
I often see myself when I look at him. He laughs like me, he looks a lot like me (or so people say), and he's pretty affable. But when something bothers him, he lets you know about it. And keeps letting you know about it.
But when it comes to nudity, we couldn't be more different. I always hated having my shirt off. In elementary school, in high school, in college and now.
Michael would clearly prefer to join a nudist colony.
So it's neat to see where we differ. Maybe he won't be left-handed.
But he did seem to like Springsteen. So he's definitely got that going for him.
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