Well, it’s taken fifteen flights but its fair to say, that after we complete the next 3 quick trips booked, our feet will be then firmly planted on terra firma from now. Harrison has become a little aeronautically challenged – the joys of flying are no longer held near and dear and there is no such sight of a placid person cradled quietly and sleeping soundly on mummy’s lap. Oh no, instead we are faced with the antithesis if this scenario – the metamorphism of my son in to that type of passenger who is loathed the world over – the kicking seat and squealing loudly variety!
Can anyone tell me just how you reason with a 15 month old who is seemingly hell bent on having everyone in the near vicinity know he is displeased at having been dragged from his warm bed (at 5am) and then expected to sit contentedly on an aeroplane? Yes, I had a bag of tricks on hand and yes, I packed enough food to have fed all my fellow air travellers, but no, it was not enough. Perhaps if he has been let on a long leash and allowed to roam the aisles freely then we may have had a different flight – but then again we may also have been asked to leave!
Crankiness was emanating from the passenger in front like flames leaping from wildfire, while the man to my left kept casting non-too furtive nor discreet glances in my direction and even the air hostesses, who at first glance told me air had the most gorgeous son, started to keep her distance as time marched on.
Thank God then for small mercies – that namely being a short 45-minute flight! But I felt every minute in excruciating detail – and the endless energy was not over being expended there….
So after successfully negotiating an extraction from the throes of the dreaded jet plane we next tried the patience of the patients of the local private hospital. My poor Nan, delighted to see my son after so long, mainly caught only fleeting backwards glances of him as he fled from sight.
Harrison thought he’d take it upon himself to be a one man welcome wagon, popping his head happily around the ward doors and announcing in that saccharin sweet voice “hiiiiieeeee” and then bolting from view. It was the toddler equivalent of the ring the doorbell and run prank that wayward teens might play!
Nan and I thought we had the situation covered when she suggested we block off his escape route with his pram. But that was no match for Rambo Webeck – he commenced commando style crawling and stealthily crept back out to freedom in that manner!
So all that is left for me to do is to simply come to terms with the fact there is just no fencing in the frenetic Harrison, our beautiful free spirit with endless energy to burn.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some MUCH NEEDED rest while he sleeps…