No, I'm just kidding. People will probably mash it up and pronounce it as Bee-nah-ree. And anyway, I belong to the school of thought that does not believe in giving weird or meaningless made-up names. (Amadeus anyone? Pokoi? Kynaston?)
However, now, at 38 weeks incubation, I suddenly realised the baby could arrive anytime he likes, expected due date be damned. It has caused me great anxiety, namely because I would much rather a January baby than a December one. This is for purely idiosyncratic reasons such as: I like January because it feels much fresher and nicer, and I don't like December, which carries an air of staleness and reeks of endings.
It is with bated breath that I count down the days to the new year, hoping that the baby will be most cooperative and stay in for just another few days.
My level of fretfulness fluctuates according to what people have been telling me, eg:
"First babies usually come early."
"First babies usually come late."
"Boys usually come early."
"Boys usually come late."
Also, I was told the Resident Bureaucrat arrived a whole 20 days early, which made me get into a frenzied tizzy, because if kanjiongness is inherited, my dreams of a January baby will all be over. On the other hand, I myself was 10 days late and had to be induced. So I live in the hope that, taking the average of the both of us, the baby will come just at the right time.
To compensate for his kanjiong genes, which could jolly well be passed down to the baby, the Resident Bureaucrat has been trying to coax the baby to come out only in January by telling him things such as:
"Baby, you must come out only next year okay? You know what is next year? It's when people say Happy New Year! And then they will sing Auld Lang Syne. You know? Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
"When you hear Happy New Year, then you can come out!"
Which was when I told the Resident Bureaucrat that he'd better stop saying Happy New Year now, or the baby may think it's really the New Year and that now's the time to come out.
Another of his attempts to persuade the baby to stay in goes like this:
The Resident Bureaucrat: Baby, you can't come out now, or else you'll have to sleep in the street, you know? Your bed is not ready.
Me: That's not true. The bed is ready wat!
He: Shhh (with a wink). Baby, there are dogs in the streets. And cats. And rats. And the dogs are much bigger than you. So you have to stay in until your bed is ready, okay? The bed is nice and big and comfortable. You will like it.
Me: (Rolls eyes)
So anyway, I will breathe much more easily the moment we cross over to 2010. Please fate, please don't make fun of me by letting the baby arrive at 11.55pm on the 31st of December.
And if the baby is really so kanjiong as to want out, like, in the next few days, please let him be the first of 2010 as opposed to the last of 2009. Milk powder companies never sponsor babies born on the last day of the year.
So baby, be good.