Flight of the Floyds

Yesterday we flew from Wellington to Christchurch for our pre-Christmas holiday. The flight was unfortunately a bit difficult. First, Isabelle was upset that she wasn't sitting next to me (our seats were arranged two-by-two). The very kind woman in the aisle seat next to me offered to swap for the far less desirable middle seat in the row behind that Isabelle was occupying. Once the swap was made, we settled down for the flight.

The flight is a short one, and by the time we had read the in-flight magazine, downed our cup of water and eaten our biscuit it was time for the plane to descend. This was when the trouble started! Aidan decided that on no account was he going to sit down with a seat belt on. Unfortunately, this was one of life's non-negotiables. So, for the next 10-15 minutes he screamed, twisted, wrestled and poured every ounce of two-year-old strength into wriggling out of the belt. In the end I had to hold him in a full-body hug (as much as I could over the armrest with a big preggy puku), calmly insisting that he had to wear his belt, while trying to distract him from pulling out handfuls of my hair in protest by using the sights outside.

"Look, horses! Sheep! Grass!"
"NO HORSE! NO SHEEP! NO GRASS!" (Pull hair, scream, wriggle)
"Ooo, little houses!"
"NO HOUSES" (Enraged shriek. Kick kick kick.)
(Getting more desperate)
"Look, a prison! I can see 1, 2, 3, 4, 60-bed units! Oooo, a medium security wing!"
"NO MEDIUM 'CURITY WING".

The flight attendants were very nice and two came to check if there was a problem they could assist with. One offered to bring biscuits, which I accepted. Aidan batted his away. Isabelle opened hers and it flew out of the bag onto the floor and rolled out of her reach. Now tears threatened on my other side. I gave her Aidan's - he was past caring.

I (and no doubt everyone else on board) was very pleased to finally land. Aidan was almost asleep as we taxied to a halt.

Sometimes it's hard to be two!