Undertaking a plane trip with a small child and expecting it to go smoothly is delusional optimism on par with those people who buy a tiger kitten and expect it to still be cuddly and friendly when it grows up and are genuinely astonished when it mauls them.
So, we are on our way to New Zealand. Wellington to be more specific, and it is only a 3.5 hour flight but I am not a huge fan of flying, the landing freaks me out, so I am not sure I can expect the four month old Zig to be coolmaster flash and not blink an eye when I am all in a flummox. So I am approaching this challenge with my usual mix of cynicism and a tendency towards melodrama… the way I see it there are 3 likely ways this high flying adventure will go:
1. Ziggy sleeps the whole time and barely realises anything has happened
2. Ziggy is a bit restless on take off and landing, cries for a little while but then has something to eat and a little nap
3. Ziggy loses the plot on an epic scale and screams to the point where for a second or two no sound comes out and then all hell rains down, he can’t remember how to open his eyes and blood vessels start to pop on his cute little face.
In scenario three I also imagine people on the plane getting more and more annoyed to the point where there is pointing and yelling and it’s like a bad dream, and I may (or may not) have clothes on.
Here’s hoping Zig is simply fascinated by what is going on around him and charms the flight attended with his big blue eyes and enormous cheeks and we get free beer and peanuts!