Yesterday, I almost dropped my child on her head. I grabbed her feet in time before she slid off my thigh, head first. What resulted was a small bump right at the tip of her very round little head. There were some tears but that was it. Thanks to my apparent dexterity despite being 40 kilos overweight, I saved my child from my own carelessness.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m cut out to be a mother, and then my husband reminds me that having kids was all I ever talked about. If you’d known me back when I was a wild child, you’d know that sounds ludicrous. Jennifer Tai Pooi Ling, a mother? Get out!

I can’t. And I won’t.

But what really is the measure of a good mother? That you won’t drop your child because you were too busy kicking someone’s snooty ass on Dereth? That you won’t accidentally feed her expired milk? That you won’t scald her tongue because you wanted to feed her very quickly?

Not that I’ve done any of those things, you know. 15 months into the job, you’d think all this self doubt should have evaporated (if not just pushed aside into a very small corner at the back of my mind) but being a tad philosophical at times, I just want to know if I am doing a good enough job.

And then I take one look at her tiny little grinning face, and I know I am doing enough.