Mickey is my oldest. He is my loud and energetic boy. He makes up songs and sings them to his brothers when they cry. He hugs me for no reason, and always has to have a hug and a kiss and a prayer before bed. He loves his bear as much as I love him, which tells me he is going to someday be a great dad. He tattles and bickers and refuses to nap, but when that boy asks me to hold his hand when we walk or whispers the biggest [non] secret in my ear I wonder how I could have helped make someone so wonderful.
Abel is my quiet and brooding middle child. He disappears and plays by himself. He has sang "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" to his baby brother ever since we brought him home from the hospital, but it comes out "Finkle, Finkle, Wittle, Tah!" and I could listen to it nonstop. He has bright red hair, and brilliant blue eyes that I can get lost in if he would every hold still long enough to let me. He whispers so I can barely hear him and raises his eyebrows up and down instead of talking 75% of the time. He would rather hold a real snake than a stuffed teddy bear, and runs ahead when we hike, but stays behind when we're meeting new people. He will go on Safaris and cave dive when he grows up. He will adventure and travel and catch wild animals.
Mark is my baby who seems too small to walk and babble on. He refuses to stay downstairs when his brothers go upstairs, but also refuses to learn how to scoot down them. He mimics Abel's rebellious looks with perfection, and would rather I hold him than do anything else--ever. He still sleeps with me most mornings, nurses most nights, and follows me around 75% of the time. He follows the kitty around the other 25% of the time (not actually). He participates in activities and obeys better when I'm not around, and he always cries when he sees me, no matter what he was doing.
