a photo by http://www.flickr.com/photos/treadstone-71/ on Flickr.
Today I’ve come to the conclusion that soft play areas and me do not mix. In fact both of these should be avoided at all costs. Or perhaps I should have a sign on me saying “beware – this woman has no clue, aviod at all cost”.
It was meant to be a treat. Take my daughter along to work off some energy, so that I could chat to a friend and try to ignore the thumping headache that had been threatening to erupt like Mount Etna all bloody morning.
The babies were happy which was one blessing. My boy was happily munching on some luminious looking rice cake and getting progressively more sticky and yucky-looking by the second.
And then the cry came from high above the climbing area:
“Mummy, mummy help me!”
You always recognise your kids cry, and my heart droppped as I realised that my daughter was hovering at the top of the slide and was far too scared to come down it. Somehow, Supermum (not me – I assure you) had to get to her.
And so, up I clambered, trying not to knock over the other tiny people neogitating the inflatiable ladder thing in front of me. I had to bend through holes – slide into tunnels and squeeze past mammoth balls, all the time hearing my daughters cries above the altogether happier screams.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I was weakly yelling back.
But you see I had no map, no sat-nat, and no sodding sense of direction. I soon found myself a level above the slide, peering down at my hysterical daughter with absolute no clue how to get to her,
“Mummy!” She was by now pleading, obviously wondering why her mum was so hopeless. Why hadn’t she been saved from this tiny little nightmare of hers.
Meanwhile I was having a nightmare of my own, as I managed to get my arse wedged between two giant rollers.
“Help me…” I yelped meekly at a burly-looking Dad who looked at me with bemusement. He had to push my bottom quite firmly to release me from my trap – I’m even sure I heard a faint POP.
Despite all this I still found myself on the wrong bloody level, it was like a never-ending hell. I peered over the edge and could see my friend sipping tea and cooing at our babies, I considered jumping, but wondered if that would be too drastic.
Once again, Take a Break headlines came to mind “Woman trapped for 6 days in soft-play hell…” OR “Mum lost her right bum cheek in inflatable prison”
After 20 minutes of mild panic, I managed only to find my way back out again. I had major back ache from being bent double and my head was by now pounding. My sense of logic had also diasppeared, I had decided I would find a ladder (from where exactley I’m not sure) and would rescue my baby girl that way.
But as I staggered to our table I found my daughter there, being comforted by another Mum who took one look at my dishevelled hair and sweat-ridden face and obviously suppressed the sacarsm.
“I got her down for you.” She said, ever so sweetly “you only had to hop through that tunnel and up those steps…”
Did I feel like a knob? Oh yes. Will we go there again? Oh yes – but only with my husband, who has an altogether better aptitude for these things.
Meanwhile I’m still having flashbacks and may in fact need counselling….
