Dropping things

Emma is very much still into dropping things, but for her mother the novelty is wearing off. We have graduated from a slow, deliberate action - examine object, pick it up, look over high chair and release - to very diva-ish rapid swiping motions and karate chops sending everything clattering to the floor.

She is also interested in feeding herself now, at least she is very interested in grabbing the spoon and flicking Weetabix onto the walls. I tried Gina 'I know everything about babies, me' Ford's trick of giving her one spoon to play with while I tried to shovel food in with another, but instead Emma just grabbed both spoons and engineered her own Weetabix supercatapult.

As I scrape dried Weetabix off the walls, mulling over a wasted university career (sorry, taxpayers) a moribund career and gruel-for-brains I keep thinking about Condoleeza Rice. As well as being the most powerful woman in the world, she is also a concert pianist. Or Nicola Horlick, 5 children and head of an investment bank or something like that. Or even my normal friends who have babies and are still managing to make the work thing work, and I can't help feeling very inadequate. I don't feel like this often; usually I am a resolutely Glass Half Full girl. It is not helped by the fact Mum has gone and I have two days of just my Elf and I before R gets back from Sri Lanka and I am already knackered.