When I was naming her, I picked out a first name for her that could not be shortened. Three syllables, not shorten-able, no nicknames, did not rhyme with anything that grade-schoolers would want to tease her with. So the day care promptly chopped her name down to one letter - "C." And for a long time, she also went by "C-C." It got to the point where I would call her friends parents to ask if she was over there (she liked to disappear a lot after school) and if I asked for her by name, they would go like, "Huh?" "Nobody here by that name!" And I would sigh a big sigh and say, "OK, is CiCi there?" "Oh, yes she is!" Don't ever think you can pick your child's nicknames. And don't ever name them something that rhymes with "icky" or "sticky." Trust me on this one. So C-baby became my affectionate version of the daycare's chopped naming experiment. I like it much better. It reminds her that I am still the parent, even if she drives now and has a real job. But more than that, it is an endearment of affection. Because who wouldn't just love a C-baby in their life?
I know I would. And so would Big K. I think anyway. At least, he hasn't asked me to return her. Yet. Amen. -Honeysmacks
PostScript: After reviewing this entry, Big K has requested that he go by Pappa bear instead, or PB for short (not to be confused with Peanut Butter). So PB and Cb from here on after. Until he changes his mind. Again.