Stupidhead Sillypants

Have you ever seen that episode of The Simpsons where Homer and Marge are trying to come up with a name for their unborn son? Marge keeps suggesting perfectly respectable names and Homer repeatedly shoots them down as he fires back possible playground taunts. The anticipation is palpable when Marge finally suggests Bart. I waited for the punch line that never came as they agreed on the name and left me screaming “FART... FART YOU JACKASS... BART RHYMES WITH FART!” Of course I realise the fact they completely missed something so obvious is the punch line but I never thought I’d find myself the butt of the same joke. I’ve worked in a childcare setting for the majority of my working life and if I’ve learned anything it’s that children are cruel. It’s true that at some point in life all children will be mocked, regardless of their parent’s attempts to prevent it. Still, I wanted to do what I could to insure my daughter was not an easy target. Unfortuntely it seems I have failed her.

When we finally settled on the name Gaia I racked my brain for months trying to figure out any possible associations or childish rhymes. The worst I could think of with was GAY-A (which she’s already been referred to by pretty much everyone who’s only seen her name in print). Frankly I’d like to believe she’d respond to something so unoriginal and inoffensive with the same casual eye roll I perfected after years of being called Reese’s Pieces. It’s a move that clearly states “is that the best you can come up with?” Then last night I was tickling her and calling her by the various pet names she’s becoming known as. It was all Gaia-bears and Gaia-roos when it came over me in a wave... Gaiarrhea... the kids at school are going to call my daughter Gaiarrhea. How could I not have realised sooner? That combined with her dramatic, if short, history of gastrointestinal distress and I’m more than a little concerned. I guess all I can do now is prepare her for the possibility and hope she doesn’t end up pooping her pants at her first day of Kindergarten. Although I guess if she’s a five-year-old pants pooper I’ll have bigger problems to deal with than her classmates realising her name rhymes with diarrhea.

"Gaiarrhea!?! OH SHIT!"

As far things go Gaiarrhea is pretty rough, but nicknames have special place in our family. I can count on one hand the number of times my husband has referred to me as Risa in the last year. As far as he’s concerned my name is Chancho. For Jose nicknames are the way he shows his love. The way you know you’ve been accepted into his world. Calling me Chancho seems cute when it was just the two of us, but when we were in public situations I can’t help but notice people cringing. For those of you who have no idea why, I’ll enlighten you. Chancho is Spanish for pig. Of course it doesn’t help that I’ll always be a little bit chubby. I’m sure most casual observers think Jose is being mildly abusive, but it wasn’t my ample hips that inspired the nickname, it was Nacho Libre.

TV on cruise ships is a funny thing. In addition to the regular circulating programming for the guests, the crew has three extra channels, my favourite being one that plays the same movie in a constant loop for weeks. Shortly after Jose signed onto our last ship Nacho Libre was this movie. I’m pretty sure he watched it upwards of two hundred times in the course of the month we finally became a bonefide couple.

For anyone who’s seen Nacho Libre you might remember Chancho, the chubby little orphan who looked up to Nacho. The nickname began innocently enough over an inside joke about the similarities between Chancho and me in my Adventure Ocean uniform. Shockingly the one-style-fits-all board shorts weren’t so flattering on my big-girl thighs. Not to mention the way my overstuffed jacket pockets made me look as if I had an oh-so-becoming beer gut that sagged over my waistband. I consider the fact that I wore this uniform day in and day out and Jose still managed to fall in love with me a testament to my awesomeness.

Before long the joke had morphed into an intellectual character study where Chancho’s ultimate belief in Nacho became a symbol for mine and Jose’s growing connection. Of course, I know it’s a little ludicrous to let two comedic characters from a ridiculous (if hilarious) movie be symbols for our love but so it is, and now that the name has officially stuck, so it always will be. That’s the thing about nicknames anyway; the good ones are always born from inside jokes and secrets and walk the line of appropriateness. Plus as far as I’m concerned Jack Black is my own personal cupid. In Jose’s mind things were rocky between us when I was Risa, and then he got to the Navigator of the Seas where I was re-born as Chancho and suddenly it was all rainbows and roses.

And it’s not just the nickname that’s stuck. Jose and I now celebrate Chanchoversaries and give each other Valenchancho presents. We share in the joy of a Merry Chanchomas and blow out the candles on our shared Chanchoday. We even have a Chancho theme song (in its original form and a dance remix). It’s been over a year since I’ve gone to bed without hearing him sing “Eres mi Chancho, mi unico, unico Chancho.” When we got married we automatically started referring to ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Chancho. When we found out I was pregnant we were having a Chanchito or Chanchita of course. Now that Gaia is no longer a fetus as predicted he rarely calls her by her name. She started out as Gai-ita, a nod to Jose-sita, his mother’s pet name for him no doubt, but lately he’s been calling her Chancho-Mono, our little pig monkey, and I know it’s going to stick. Chancho because she’s ours, and Mono because of the way she bounces in continuous motion as we talk to him on Skype.

I’ve grown quite attached to being called Chancho and I hope our baby girl always feels as special as I do as an object of her father’s nicknaming quirk. The truth is, when you grow too old for childish playground rhymes that special feeling is the point of a true nickname. And if nothing else let’s be honest, anything’s better than Gaiarrhea. Can I get an Amen?