How private can narcissism really be?

I've been trying to finesse the whole question of privacy/identity/whatever by not mentioning the names of anybody, but it's getting too awkward, so I have to address the question of what to call the people in my life. I know it's pretty irrelevant, since it's not like I'm going to attract a stalker by writing about potty training. But it'd be weird, posting our names up here in public. Semi-public. Anyway, I can't bring myself to do it, so I'm going with aliases. I will henceforth refer to my offspring as Dutch, because I just gave her a haircut (she refuses to wear any sort of hair-restraint accessories, rarely lets me brush her hair, and has fly-away, slow-growing hair anyway, so she looked like a dandelion gone to seed) and now she looks like, yes, that little lead-paint-poisoned Dutch boy. My husband can be... Cook, because he's having this passionate relationship with Captain Cook, based on the book "Blue Latitudes" by Tony Horwitz. (Captain Cook, by the way, IS pretty cool. Read the book.) So now I can write about my adventures with Cook and Dutch, which feels like a wholesome book about boys in 1952. Or miners in 1862.