Last year some time, a new trampolining park opened up near us.
At the time it didn’t register as my smallest was too young, and I’d pretty much forgotten about its existence until some friends mentioned that they were going. I figured the kids would probably love it, and so we joined them.
The first time we went, I stayed on the sidelines as I was under the impression that it was a toddler-specific session… Foolishly, this gave me soft-play-esque visions of drinking tea whilst idly watching over my little cherubs bouncing merrily.
However it turns out it wasn’t easy; there is a strict ‘one person per trampoline’ policy but you try telling that to a two year old who just wants to bounce all over the place.
The centre was, to my horror, crawling with older kids and teenagers who obviously had a random day off school and had paid good money not to land on a two year old.
I spent the whole time running between the trampolines after the small one who was having the freaking time of his life but kept disappearing, as two year olds tend to do.
When I took the older one for a wee and left him in the care of my friend, who had two children of her own, I walked back to find he was being carried by an angry teenager having escaped and wandered on to her trampoline. Sigh.
It was not very relaxing at all.
I managed less than a handful of words to anyone else, and there was no opportunity to drink tea at all. It was 100% hands on, high alert stuff.
With more than one child and just one me, it was pretty impossible to manage. I wasn’t massively impressed, it was way too busy for my liking, and I wasn’t planning to go back.
But then a month or so later, it was raining, we were having noisy work on the house and had to get out.
Once again I had friends who were going there, so I thought I’d give it another bash.
This time I’d go on the trampolines myself with the kids, and hopefully this would make it easier to keep tabs on them and I wouldn’t end up with a teenager looking at me like I was a terrible mother again.
And so, I bought my special socks, we watched the safety video, and off to the trampolines we went.
And very soon I realised that bloody hell, it’s been a long time since I went on a trampoline. Since before children. Way before children.
Now I want to say here that I didn’t actually PMST, but I did learn a valuable lesson.
Just because you had c-sections, and you pride yourself on being able to hold it in from London Bridge all the way to Kent when the loos are broken, doesn’t mean your pelvic floor doesn’t need serious attention.
I shall think carefully before bouncing again.
As an aside, whichever bright spark dreamt up mum and toddler jump sessions, clearly doesn’t have to clean the trampolines afterwards.
Ever PYST? Leave a comment here or on Facebook!
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