My two babies have nicknames. Cutesy little monikers that I dreamed up on my own (with the help of my animal friend, Gosling’s Black Seal). Names that one day may embarrass the tears from their eyes, when shouted in a crowded room of their peers.
First came Worm, the wiggly, shifty one. From early on, he was a master of escape. As hard as I tried to swaddle him, it was never enough to keep all of his limbs secure. 15 minutes of sweating, squirming, and shuffling was all it took to thwart my best wrapping effort. Even with the lights off. And with a wet diaper, he was doubly fast. The writhing contortionist was so worm-like, that it didn’t take long for me to think of what to call him.
Then there’s Smush, the cuddler. She loves to be close to another warm body. Her spaghetti noodle arms aren’t developed quite yet, so she mainly cuddles using her face. We have ultrasound pics of Smushie trying to ‘hug’ her mommy’s womb from the inside. Her cheeks mashed up against her mom’s uterine wall and reminded me of a pug. (But I drew the line at calling my daughter a pug. I’ve got standards! Besides, Steph didn’t approve it.) I can’t blame the little girl. She’s got cheeks like pillows and still uses them to shamelessly nestle and snooze anywhere on anyone. Sometimes, I smush her cheeks together for my own amusement. (I have a feeling that will come back to bite me in the ass.) Smush. Looking at those pudgy cheeks, I can’t think of a more fitting name.
When I was younger, I thought I would get a cool nickname from my friends. (You can’t give yourself a nickname. That’s against the rules. Besides, it’s lame.) Maybe they would see my mathematical prowess and call me ‘The Human Calculator‘. But, now I see that most people can do double-digit addition without a pencil and paper. Or maybe I would be called the ‘Big Injun’. But, I couldn’t eat enough cheeseburgers to really nail the ‘Big’ part. Not to say that I waited 36 years for a nickname like this one…but since it was first uttered from the Worm’s mouth in the sweetest sing-song tone ever, it has firmly planted itself into my heart.
I am the ’Honey Daddy’. (Take your shots now, you soulless, cold-blooded, insensitive people.) And it’s not to be confused with the fierce honey badger. No no no. Worm likens me more to honey butter than honey badger. I guess it fits. Because everytime he says it, I melt.
Gavin – 24; Dad – 12 (Worm, can I get a tougher, more manly nickname later? Pretty pretty please?)