Chicken Head

The nickname Little Thing was born much in the same way that I’m sure your Little Things’ nicknames happened.  Randomness.  When she was a toddler, I would sing to her:  Little Thing/ dah nuh nuh nuh nuh/ You make my heart sing/ duh nuh nuh nuh/ You make everything groooooveeeey/ Little Thing, I think I love you.  Simply replacing wild thing with Little Thing. She would then walk around asking for “my song.” The name just stuck, and her online pseudonym was born.   

As a baby, she was Bop.  Before her existence and to this day, my husband and I pass each other in the kitchen or hallway and acknowledge each other with a loving “Bop” and then the other responds “Bebop.”  Why do we do this?  How did we start doing this?  I don’t know.  It just happened.  So she became Bop, Bebop, and Boppy.  Now when Goose and I have this exchange she chimes in with a chirpy Bop, scoring the final goal to complete the hat trick.  

At pre-school, she’s Cadie Pop.  Named by her pre-K three teacher because, “She’s just so jolly.”  All of the kids took to the name.  I would walk into pick her up after work and be greeted with a chorus of, “Cadie Pop, your mommy’s here!”  Then at least four of them everyday would want kisses and hugs from her before we could make our exit.  Cuteness overload. That nickname too has assimilated into alias usage in our household.   

Now to the most controversial nickname:   Chicken Head.  This one is partially her fault.   

“Guess what?”  she asks.

“Chicken butt.”  I reply, and at first, she would dissolve into giggles.  Now she mean mugs me better than a middle school girl.  

So now every time I say guess what to her its, “Guess what, Chicken Butt.”  And somehow this evolved into changing the noun following chicken to rhyme with whatever I have to say to her:  

Nice eye patch, Chicken Scratch.

Do no harm, Chicken Arm!

You need to go pee, Chicken Knee!

Your outfit’s on fleek,  Chicken Beak.  

That’s a lie, Chicken Thigh.  

Can you dance to the beat, Chicken Feet?   

I’m tired of “You’re a Grand Old Flag.”  Can you find something else to sing,  Chicken Wing?

It’s time for bed/Do what I said/You were just fed/That lizard is dead/It’s supposed to be red, etc., Chicken Head.  

Chicken Head is the most versatile of the Chicken options, you see.  Often it gets used by itself in place of her name.  Not because it’s a cutesy name, but because it’s the one most frequently rhymed.  And it’s more socially acceptable to yell Chicken Head instead of Chicken Butt through the aisles of Walmart when she wanders ahead of me.  

At first, I wasn’t realizing I was doing it.  Then the quizzical looks from strangers started to happen while we were galavanting out and about, and I realized I actually derived joy from this type of puzzlement from people I don’t know.  

What is wrong with me????  Motivated by shock value? Who would have thought? Insert ridiculous exaggerated winking over here.      

So friends, what is the most ridiculous thing you call your child, and why?  And I mean, look at her here:  that’s a total chicken head.  cadie pop spoon lake


2 thoughts on “Chicken Head

  1. I call Joey “Schmo” which started with “Joe Schmo” and progressed from there. Feels totally normal until I use it in front of friends and people look at me like I’m bonkers. Love this post because our crazy inside jokes are my favorite part of parenting. (Also your daughter is the freaking cutest, full stop.)

    Liked by 1 person

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