My family has a reputation for giving people nicknames. I remember one dinner with friends when we talked about our name for one of our grandmothers--Eeyore--for her oh-so-sunny disposition. Our friend, Jan, kidded us about how many names we have for people and our pets and asked what we had named her. Without hesitating, someone said, "G.I. Jan" and we roared; it was so spot on! And she's been G.I. Jan ever since.
We call my dad by either his mom's name--Eunice--when he's munching and grazing or "evening up" a pan of brownies or by his dad's--Nate--when he's hard of hearing. I've been called Roly from 101 Dalmations (I'm hungry, Mother, I really am) and Ice Queen. I even have a t-shirt now. My brother, all 6 feet plus of him, we call Scooter. He's "Bart"; I'm "Lisa." I actually don't believe we've nicknamed my mom so much. I think that's pretty much a death sentence.
This has continued on to my own children. Rebekah, of course, is Bekah and Bekah-boo but was also called Heffalump and Princess Poops-a-lot as a baby. And we ironically refer to her by her middle name--Grace. The newest names for Benjamin David: B. Diddy, Chub-a-love, and Benzilla, especially when he goes after Rebekah's school bus.
The sound effects and dialogue we give the pre-language one are pretty funny too. "Me Benzilla. Me want school bus. Me eat people." It comes out a bit like Cookie Monster!