how bibi's special bubble burst

When my nephew (now 21) first learned to speak, he couldn’t get his tongue around Vicki. Sounded as though he were speaking with a mouthful of mashed potato, more like Thbibbic. Or sometimes, Bithici. But eventually that became more refined and he very clearly started calling me Bibi. How special was that? A special name, from my special little guy, for his special Aunty Bibi.

As my nephew’s younger sisters began speaking, they too adopted our special name, and to this day, I am still Bibi to their entire family.

People would often ask where my special name came from, and with warmth in my heart, I’d share our charming story, to which they’d always respond how special that was. Until one weekend in June, several years ago, when I was at a function in Southern California—chatting with my brother and two of his colleagues—and the inevitable question arose. “So if everyone else calls you Vicki, where does Bibi come from?”

I was about to launch into my oft told tale of my nephew’s special naming convention, when my brother cut me off and I learned something new. “I taught him to say it” he said, “B.B. stands for Blubber Butt …”