My husband is notorious for assigning his friends and family nicknames. Sometimes, it’s just their last name, but many times, it includes some unusual label that has a long story behind it. I keep reminding him that one of these days we’ll have to teach Eli the real names of his aunts and uncles before he starts calling them things like “Aunt Chubber” or “Aunt Bugman,” and sort out the confusion of why his dad and his uncle call each other “Jack.”
Although I seem to have escaped with a safe name of “Babe,” Eli has not been so fortunate. We started off with a reasonable nickname of “Buddy,” but as soon as his fondness of food emerged, the name “Porker Bun” started to fly around. Family members shake their heads when my husband calls out “PORKERS!” and Eli comes running, thinking that we’ll give him a complex one day.
For the time being, though, we may have to switch names and begin calling him Rudolph. Today I summoned up all of my energy and took Eli out to the zoo with an annual membership we have. Just after I let him out of his stroller, he took off in a sprint toward the flamingoes, shouting with excitement, then suddenly tripped and face-planted on the asphalt.
Ouch. So much for a calm, uplifting nature walk.
