Boy 2.0 is now 6 months old and it seems like a long time ago that I poured myself back into a slightly-too-tight suit and dragged my flabby sleep deprived self back to work. I was thinking how the haze is beginning to lift and that sometimes now I have time for hairdryer and breakfast before I leave the house in the morning. However, whilst boy 2.0 is not the extraordinary vomit machine that his elder brother was, this week we have the introduction of solids. I am therefore resigned to prospect of attempting to address the court in a suit encrusted with baby rice and fruit puree for the foreseeable future. Thank goodness that self respect, like sleep, is a dispensable luxury.