June 30, 2016
One very notable difference between the New Pets vs. The Ones I Still Can't Really Talk About Without Getting Weird is how many stupid nicknames they have. Although "nicknames" isn't really correct, since I keep taking their existing one-syllable names and making them longer. I'm a blabbering baby talk idiot, all of a sudden.
Max was always just "Max." One time Jason overheard me call him "Maxi" and was like, ew, stop that, he's not a menstrual product. Ceiba was occasionally called Ceibs (pronounced Saybs) or Ceiby (rhymes with Baby), and I sometimes called her Girly. But even that comes NOWHERE close to the number of ridiculous names I've caught myself using lately.
For example, in the past 24 hours, I have called my pets all of the following:
Beau Dameron (cuz obvs that's his full name)
Scruffy McShugs (he needs a haircut)
Potato (I have no idea)
Purrmaster Flash (STOP EVEN MORE)
Bitey (if you stop petting him before his liking you will be gently nibbled on)
Reybie (realized once I said it that it sounded like "Rabies" and have since tried to avoid this one)
Tubs (she's, um, plumped up a bit)
Dumb Baby (because she kind of is?)
And this doesn't include the super generic shmoopy ones they all get called (Snuggle Monster, Fur Baby, etc.). I'm a mess. I'm losing my edge, or at least my mind, because I can't stop with the ridiculous baby talk around these animals.
Meanwhile, in an effort to curb that thing I do where I call my children by every other possible name first before getting it right ("NOAH IKE BEAU J REY FINN I MEAN EZRA"), they all go by the nickname of "Buddy," and are simply expected to read my mind and know exactly which "Buddy" I'm talking to.
This seems fair and fine, and will likely continue.