There are many ways to say I love you, and in our home, we say it through names. I never realized how full of affection language could be until I became a mother. My daughter, Isabella, answers to so many names that sometimes even she laughs trying to keep up. To me, she is Isabella, Bella, Belle, my little Belle, my love, my Schatzilein, my darling, my sweetheart, my sweetie pie, my cutie pie, my baby, my baby Bella, and sometimes my anak. Every name carries a moment, a mood, a shade of tenderness that words alone cannot fully express.
Our house echoes with these names. Sometimes it sounds like a melody of affection bouncing from one corner to another. It’s funny how a single word can light up her face. When I call her “my little Belle,” she gives me that shy smile, as if she knows she’s being wrapped in warmth. When I say “my baby Bella,” she giggles and quickly replies, “my cutie pie.” It’s her little ritual, our shared secret code of love. Then we ask, “Who is cutie pie?” and without missing a beat she proudly says, “Me.” It never gets old. Every time she says it, her voice bursts with confidence and sweetness that fills the room.
There’s another layer of comedy in our household too. My husband and I share a few of the same pet names. I call him “my love,” “darling,” or “Schatzilein,” which is such a tender word, one that has become a part of our family’s everyday vocabulary. The funny part is that when I say “my love” or “Schatzilein,” both he and our daughter turn their heads. They both answer at the same time with the same playful curiosity. Then they wait to see what I’ll say next, trying to figure out who I was actually calling. It has become an ongoing joke. Sometimes I draw it out on purpose, saying just “my love” and letting them both wait for a clue. The way they react is priceless. The moment I continue the sentence, they either laugh or sigh in mock disappointment.
These tiny interactions are what make our days special. They’re the moments that stitch our little family together. In between the routines, the chores, and the serious parts of life, there is this simple joy of calling each other names that come from love. The more I think about it, the more I realize that these words have become a language of their own, a language only we fully understand. It is not about the literal meaning of the names but about the feelings they carry.
When I call my daughter “my baby Bella,” I am not just saying a name. I am reminding her that she is loved, cherished, and safe. She may be growing every day, learning new things, and showing her independence, but she will always be my baby Bella. The way she insists, “I am baby Bella,” melts my heart every single time. She owns the name with pride. It’s like she understands that it’s her special title in our little world. And when she calls me “my supermom” or “my super mommy,” I feel the same joy reflected back. It’s as if love bounces between us like sunlight dancing on water. I often reply, “You are my super baby,” and she will laugh and correct me, “No, I am baby Bella.” She always wins that argument, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
What I love most is how natural it all feels. There’s nothing forced or exaggerated about these moments. They happen in the middle of breakfast, while brushing her hair, or when we are all winding down in the evening. Sometimes it happens just before bedtime when she’s tucked in, and I whisper one of her many names. She’ll reply softly with her own name for me, and in that quiet moment, everything feels right.
It’s amazing how language shapes the way we express affection. The words we choose become threads of connection. They might sound simple, but they carry layers of memory. “My love” isn’t just a term for my husband anymore; it’s also a nickname that belongs to our daughter. “Schatzilein” has become a bridge between two people I hold closest to my heart. Each name has grown roots in our family, and together they form a story of love told in the smallest of ways.
Sometimes I wonder what Bella will remember most when she’s older. Maybe she won’t remember every single nickname, but I hope she remembers how it felt to be called them. I hope she remembers the laughter that followed, the teasing moments with her Dad, and the warmth that filled our home. I hope she carries that feeling with her wherever she goes. Because love spoken out loud, in all its different forms, has a way of leaving gentle marks on the heart.
To me, she will always be baby Bella. That’s who she is in every sense of the word—my baby, my laughter, my heart in tiny form. She may grow taller, learn new words, and outgrow her toys, but the sound of her saying “me” when we ask “Who is cutie pie?” will always echo softly in my memory. It’s one of those small, perfect pieces of life that make everything else worthwhile.
