400,000 words and 30 bags of cement

Hello! Predictably enough, the initial flurry of posts to kick this blog off was not maintained. I had the intention, but the last few weeks has been manic.

I'd braced myself for the new challenge of juggling dad responsibilities with my big annual work deadline - which actually turned out to have a major upside that I hadn't anticipated* - but what I hadn't factored in was the added ball ache of arranging building work at our flat, which felt like one stress too many.

Had we not booked to fly to New Zealand on Good Friday, the day after my deadline at work, it wouldn't have felt quite so pressurised, but we got ourselves into a situation where the many various chores we had to take care of before leaving had to be done by C.O.P. on Thursday April 13, a day which ultimately involved signing off the final chapter of a 400,000-word book, getting last minute consent from the building inspector for works to begin, ordering a water pump, clearing all the stuff from the living room, and packing my bag. And that was at the end of a week that also included sourcing the building supplies, preparing for and hosting a BBQ, carrying 30 bags of cement from the street to the back garden, and recording episode 5 of the podcast.

My laughable but - incredibly - successful attempt at doing drawings.

On Thursday of the previous week, looking ahead to everything that we needed to get done, there was a definite sense of unease in the Singh Jennings / Wilson household, but having a hard deadline like that is a powerful motivator and by the time Friday morning rolled around, the only thing we had to worry about was making our 9.30am flight from Heathrow (which we managed, but not without the customary airport freak-out when it transpired that Eliza's ticket had not being issued properly by the travel agent). And then, a mere 30 hours later, we were here in Wellington.

Customary beer at Brisbane airport. It cost me $15
($12 plus $3 public holiday mark-up) but it was worth it.

The prospect of making the journey with a 4-month old was a little scary, but in the end it went about as well as could be hoped. The real fear was that we would become those people - the people you pity and also slightly despise who bring a screaming baby on to an aeroplane. Luckily, that fear did not materialise. In fact, we even got a comment from the people sitting behind us on the second flight, from Singapore to Brisbane, to the effect that hadn't even noticed there was a baby there - although I think this was attempt to excuse the fact that they stole the overhead locker from a fucking baby**.

Eliza lording it up in her luxurious bassinet

But yeah, basically it all went pretty smoothly. She fed well***; she got some good sleeps in; she didn't cry much, except when it was time for a nappy change in those tiny loos... The only major gripe we had was the pilot's itchy trigger finger on the seatbelt sign button. Some of the 'turbulence' could have passed for moderate flatulence, but still the sign came on, and with it came Eliza out of the warm, snuggly bassinet and into mum's lap - for those are the rules - and invariably at the precise moment she'd nodded off.

It was tempting to leave her be and risk the wrath of the flight attendant, but then the guilt kicked in - what if this gentle rocking turns into a full-scale nosedive? I'd never forgive myself for not taking her out of that damned bassinet.

Needless to say mum and dad didn't get much rest, but that's pretty standard for me when flying.

Anyway, that's enough for now, but I will definitely be doing a few more of these while I'm footloose and fancy free on holiday.

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*One of the benefits of the deadline run-up is having the option of working from home several days a week. For some reason, though, before this phase got underway, it hadn't properly occurred to me that this meant I'd be able to spend much more time with newborn Eliza than I would have otherwise. This unanticipated bonus was something I became massively thankful for, as normally dads go back to work after two weeks and then - weekends aside - might only see their child for an hour or so each day.

**This became my suspicion when they proceeded to make a completely empty offer to help us get the bag that, as a result of their despicable behaviour, ended up half way down the aisle.

***Actually, she fed more than well. She's on the small side baby-wise, and is not normally a big eater, but during the flight she was on the boob every hour (except when she went down for a big sleep). Perhaps it was thirst - the air on aeroplanes is quite dry, as you know - or maybe just comfort, but either way it meant lots of trips to the flight attendants' area for dad to forage for snacks and refreshments to replenish and rehydrate mum. I said to Alice that it felt vaguely primal, before kicking off my Air Max, popping in my earbuds and pressing play on the touchscreen to resume watching Nocturnal Animals.