Late Night Lovebird Thoughts

“I’ve never liked it, I just liked you, so I let it slide,” she says it kindly, observing my face, aware of the slight panic she’s caused in her half-rabbit girlfriend.

For 5 years I’ve been calling her Birdie, Bird for short. It came from calling her my lovebird at some point, for a variety of personal weird little cutesy intimate reasons. It evolved over time. Don’t you love those things? The nicknames and inside jokes you grow with someone you love that don’t make sense to anyone on the outside.

I called her Bird and she called me Bun, short for Bunny of course. Pet-names are precious, all of my lovers and besties have had special names. It’s how I address them in love notes, how I catch their attention, how I think of them in my heart. To the rest of the world she’s Max, and to me she’s my sweet Birdie. But she confided recently that she doesn’t like it.

I was embarrassed at first, and confused, why did she let it go on for so long? Of course I’m a huge advocate for CALL PEOPLE THE NAME THEY TELL YOU TO CALL THEM for a variety of personal and political reasons, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a small part of me was bummed that she didn’t love it. It felt special to me, and special to my little-ness in our dynamic. But that’s kinda part of being in relation to someone isn’t it? We’re all such different creatures. We all hear the same words differently. We all grow and evolve and change, and if we don’t adjust we lose each other.

I apologized softly, promised to break the habit and stop using the nickname. She was so gentle, said it was okay, tried to blow it off like no big deal, but I’m glad she spoke up. I’m happy she trusted me enough to know I would adapt and love her thoroughly. I don’t want to call her something she doesn’t like. I want her to hear the sounds my mouth makes and feel like she’s basking in love.

A few days later (with only a couple slip ups!) we were laying in bed and I asked “so what am I gonna call you?” She thought it was a silly question, “Call me Max,” she chuckled. I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder, “I’m your life partner I’m not going to call you by your government name!” The ensuing rounds of “why not???” and my near-preaching about the poetic language of lovers requiring special words had us both laughing at our differences. She’s so practical and I’m… well, you guys know what I am. The yin and yang of it all.

My suggestions (Daddy) aren’t really for public consumption, and her suggestions (honey, dear) are so common and non-specific they don’t feel like enough. So I’m rolling with “love” and “babe” for the time being and waiting for inspiration to strike.

But mostly I’m writing this because I have a stupid scary blood test in the morning and when I can’t sleep I like to obsess about how perhaps small innocuous things are actually a metaphor for the bigger issues at hand. It’s like a poetic form of magical thinking… if it’s beautiful and it makes you ache it’s probably true. And either way it will distract me from thinking about needles.

What do you guys do when you can’t sleep?