Nicknames

Nicknames and how they evolve can be fascinating. Or maybe I'm just casting around for things to write about in a brief fifteen minute respite when Lucy is asleep and the rest of my family are out entertaining Anna.

Either way, what would my skinny-legged youngest daughter:




















Have in common with this:






















Well, the nickname Lucky was obviously never going to fly. We simply couldn't do that to her, for the same reason we didn't christen her 'Chastity'. Life was bound to turn round and bite her on the bum with a nickname like Lucky.

When it comes to nicknames, I always defer to LK. He is a genius, and within days of her birth Anna was called:

Rosie
The Doodle
Pinky Pinkerton
Tufty Wingspan McFlail, to name but a few.

With baited breath we waited for Lucy's moniker to evolve. Not factoring in Anna's input of course.

Lucy is beautiful (OK, I'll admit to being a tad biased). Both of my daughters had perfect newborn heads, none of that weird birth-canal induced cone-heading for them, no, they would rather take out my perineum than graze their delicate melons apparently. A fact backed up my OB nurse who took one look at a 2 day old Lucy and said 'now that's a C-section head if ever I saw one'. No, that is a delivery the speed of a Formula 1 pit-stop. No time for head squashing, Lucy was launched in to the world as if from a sling-shot (and I always wondered why the delivery docs wore those splatter-guard visors - now I know).

Unlike her perfect noggin, Lucy's eyes still have a little developing to do. Her right eye is more often than not closed, caused apparently by a weak eyelid muscle that should perk up in the next few weeks. In the meantime when awake she is constantly winking suggestively, as if to say 'let's check out that rack Lady, come on, whip out the girls'. Or not. Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to me.

Either way, LK took one look at her unbalanced eyelids and christened her 'popeye'. It is hard to keep a straight face when he creeps up behind you whilst you're nursing your beloved, gorgeous spawn and whispers 'ack, ack, ack'.















Now I am not hormonal enough to be offended by this moniker. I am bizarrely able to admit that she is both staggeringly beautiful and looks rather like Vladimir Putin, in a pale and delicate-featured kind of way. Not that Putin is always described as an angelic infant, but who's to say he wouldn't be cute if covered in enough pink layette?

What I will object to is Anna's pronunciation of Popeye - she thought the nickname was hilarious, but couldn't quite say it, which is how my dear Lucy is now called 'pot pie'.

I'd heard sisters were cruel, I just didn't think it would start this early.

Sorry pot-pie.