I come from a long line of nicknamers. My father, given name Robert, was known as Bob, Bobby, and Bummer when he was growing up. One uncle named Thomas was Tuck, and another named Walter was Pudge, and their sister Mary was our Aunt Sis. As for us? I was Legs; my brother was Willski, and my sister was Bomber. At the very least, there was a 'babe' added to your name, as in my grandmother who was Ada Babe and my sister's friend who was Tonya Babe.
Not surprisingly, we are all big nicknamers ourselves. My sister calls her children Booboo and Noodle; my brother's sons were Monster and Treaty Bird. (In fact he still calls them by those names sometimes even though they are in their 20s!)
It's hard to complain, though, since nicknames are a kind of proof that you are known. Not just known, I suppose, but known and loved. In our family, we are all so special that one name just isn't enough.
Of course that rule applies to Lucy, too. Even before she was home she was Lulu, Sweets, Lucy Goosey, and Poopy Doo.
But I have to say my favorite alternative to her given name is one that I hit on today. This morning when we were out and about, I looked over my shoulder and gave a short whistle. "C'mon Goose!" I called, and as she trotted toward me, I nodded at how well it fit.
Life Lesson: I love nicknames. It makes me feel loved. It makes me feel less alone in the world. ~Ellen Page