Nicknames are big our in family. It originates mostly from my husband’s side, where not only do they each have nicknames for each other, but oftentimes songs that go along with them.
Mike is Mikey Ed. Or hubberz. Or Jon Bon Candy Corn.
I’m Meg. Or Chuckwagon.
Mike’s sister is Erica… and Boozie. She’s marrying Patrick, aka Boat. My brother is “Bradder,” and his wife is my “Seester.”
So it’s not shocking that our little guy has had multiple nicknames from the beginning. First he was our little nudger, back when he was kicking me from the inside and before we knew he was a “he.” Once we named him Ryan, he became the Rhino (we still call him this sometimes, especially when he wants some milk and he’s a Hungry, Hungry Rhino).
But the best nickname and the one that is sticking the most came just a day or two after we got home from the hospital. I walked in the bedroom, where Mike was sitting on the bed, holding Ryan.
He stared at him and said, “Doesn’t he look like a ‘Bubzy’?”
Why, yes. Yes, he did.
But of course, it didn’t end there. By the end of the day, he was Bubzy Houdini Pickle Pants. “Houdini” because of the way he got out of his swaddle blanket. “Pickle Pants” because it made us laugh.
Since then, he’s also been Mr. Pickle Pants, Bubzy Wubzy, Bubzy Wubzy Milk Face, the Bubber, Bubz, and – my personal favorite – Bubzy Eddie.
You can see how he feels about all of these nicknames.
Once in a while, we try to throw a “Ryan” in there, so that he’s not shocked one day when he learns that is his actual name.