When I was pregnant with Mr. B, Jon and I struggled with finding an in-utero name for our unborn child. You know, something you could call the baby that wasn’t set in stone, but something that was more exciting than Baby.
Most folks like to go with what the baby looks like, or what sized fruit or vegetable the baby is at any given point. Cute names like Bean, Nugget, Persimmon.
With Mr. B, Jon appropriated his nickname for me to use for our child. Peanut Jones. It’s a long complicated story involving me reenacting a dancing peanut from an e-card. But it was my nickname.
And then it became Mr. B’s. So much so that a friend even mailed me a personalized bib with “Peanut Jones’ printed at the bottom.
Except, we never called our son that once he was born. I don’t know why, really, perhaps the name just didn’t fit. The nickname got picked up for my niece, and it feels like it’s lost its origin. And now, Mr. B really only gets called Mr. B. Nothing fancy, no back story. Plain and simple, just the way he likes it.
But Miss P is a different story. When I was pregnant with her, Mr. B bequeathed her as “Two.” As in, “I’m number one, you’re number two.”
My niece started calling her Priscilla Toenail. Has a good ring to it, no?
And once again, those moniker’s fell to the side after she was born. She’s had others since; Kung Fu Panda and Godzilla were good ones for a while, but they’ve since been replaced.
There’s a new name in town. Booby Tutu.
Let me explain:
I have Momkinis. You know, the bikinis that are regular on top, with a full coverage skirt for the bottoms. Enough to show off my arms, enough to hide my thunder ass.
One day this past summer, Miss P was looking through her drawer of bathing suits and found this hand-me-down bikini. Bright pink. With a ruffled bottom.
She held it up and exclaimed “Look, Mommy! A tutu! And boobies!” Because she wanted to be just like me.
So when she’d want to wear that bathing suit, she would ask for “the booby and the tutu.” And so, the nickname Booby Tutu was created. And it was good.
Lately, though, she has been saying she’s not happy with that nickname anymore. I told her that I could start calling her what my dad called me when I was a little girl: Peetie Pie. A combination of Sweetie Pie and Sweet Pea that feels cute without making me want to vomit.
Peetie Pie has been rejected. Much to my dismay.
We’re in the market for a new nickname.
What nicknames do you have for your children? What was yours growing up?