That Which We Call A Pet By Any Other Name …
You see, I want kids some day. I do. But until I know I’m ready for the smell of Satan’s outhouse in the form of a child’s diaper responsibility, I’m taking this pet thing and running with it. Not only that, but I’m embracing my inner Tony Robbins by finding that which makes a pet actually better than a child.
Nicknames.
Oh, stop it. I just heard every parent’s computer chair squeak from jumping back, ready to huff and puff and blow my statement down. I hear you. And yes, kids get nicknames, too. But kids get nicknames that come from just shortening names or adding a “y” to it. Pets get the cool nicknames.
This is because the nicknames we give to our pets, often have nothing to do with the pet at all. It’s just names or phrases that are fun to say. Once in a while you get lucky, and it’s both, fitting and fun.
Growing up, every pet of mine had about ten nicknames. My dog growing up was called Monkey Dog, because he was a dog, but sometimes when he stood a certain way, he looked like a monkey. Hence, Monkey Dog. Could you ever get away with nicknaming your child, Monkey Kid? Hell to the no.
I’ve had a cat for seven years, now. Her given name is Mogwai. But she has more nicknames than Apollo Creed had in Rocky IV.
Moo girl. Mogwasita. Dr Moobatu. And after seeing I Love You, Man months ago, I decided it was fun to say Totes M’gotes. Lucky for me, I discovered that announcing “Hello, Totes M’gotes!” when walking in, made my cat run and greet me at the door.
Parents, I know that raising a child is as stressful as it is rewarding. I am not, and would never, take that away from you. I was driving behind a school bus once and watched a little six-year-old girl exit the bus in a snow suit that hindered all mobility, yet she scampered as fast as she could up the driveway greeting not her mom (who was still up at the front door) but instead a St. Bernard dog that was twice her size. I don’t know which was happier to see the other. I saw that, and while I was obviously aware that I was not a parent, for the first time I was cognizant of an emptiness I felt not being one, yet.
But as I said, that’s still a ways down the road. So please allow me the small victory and nugget of joy I don’t have to wait for … which is being able to do what you can’t do to your child. And that’s calling her, Mama Dookie.
This is my blog. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My blog is my best friend.
