The Art of the Nickname

Jake and I are really in to nicknames. It is part of our way of showing affection. We rarely use a nickname when referring to an adult. Really, we use them for each other and children we adore. I call Jake "babe" and he calls me "stinky". I'm not sure how mine was chosen (maybe I should ask), but I am of the belief that I don't really stink... For kids it's usually something random, the more random the better.
Naturally when Cadence came along we gave her a nickname. I immediately called her "Chicken Little" and Jake called her "Turkey". Over the last 17 months (as of Thursday) these nicknames have evolved into several others: Chicken, Turkey-neck, Little Turkey, and Turkey-chicken.
Now we have Wyatt. The first night he was ours we nicknamed him "Squeaky" because he squeaked all night long, and so Squeaky it has been. Then about 4 weeks ago out of nowhere Jake busts out and starts calling him "Squeaky Crockett". WHAT??? Yes, Squeaky Crockett! Not only does Jake call him that, but he sings it to the tune of Davy Crockett... You know; "Squeaky, Squeaky Crockett! King of the wild frontier!"
For the last 4 weeks I have been telling Jake how awful of a nickname I thought that was. It is, after all, bad.

A few days ago when Wyatt was crying I went over to check on him, and it just came out. "What's wrong Squeaky Crockett?" GASP! I have been warped!