IT'S COOCOOBOO TO YOU
My dad used to call me coocooboo when I was a baby and still occasionally when he thinks I'm cute.
I haven't heard the pet name for a long time, but when I went home last weekend, dragging my puking, battered intestinal tract to my Dad's front doorstep, he took such pity on me and instantly assumed the paternal role, calling me "his coocooboo."
It felt really good.
Until I realized, "maybe in his head, he spells it "cuckoo-boo," like the crazy bird."