My father used to call me a little shirt button, usually when I wanted to do something I was not old enough to do. He was a coat button I think.
I remember my mother’s tin of buttons and as a small child I would empty it and organise the buttons. They were often organised according to size and colour. Some were tiny mother of pearl shell and delicate and some were big and robust covered in thick leather. A particular favourite was a clear disc which had flecks of silver like a confetti, no holes but a small shank on the back.