Call Me...

So, Weeble made a request last night.

While wearing her pink fairy wings and green and pink pettiskirt--over thermal leggings and shirt covered in remnants of her pizza lunch, of course--she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Call me 'Honey.'"

And she was serious. I know the look--I've seen it from my own mother several times.

Better Half and I just looked at each other.

We spent months coming up with her name.

And changed the front runner no less than three times. It's a name that we believe will grow with her, that she can take into a classroom or a board room or a research lab, or... You get the picture.

Over the last week or so, she has been referring to herself as Honey. Asking for us to sing "Rockabye Honey" instead of "Rockabye Baby" and requesting items for "Honey." We didn't realize how much she truly likes the pet name.

We checked to make sure she still identifies herself by her given name. She looked at us as if we had horns when we asked, and pointed to herself.

Hmmmm.

It could be worse. Better Half's sister wanted to be re-named Crystal.



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