We went to one of those indoor jungles today.
You know, the ones where the kids run about like wild beasts and the parents pretend this was a great idea.
Kids love these places, why wouldn’t they! Complete and utter freedom to let out their inner monkey and be as loud and crazy as they like… Well, to a certain extent. I draw the line at eye gouging, which is practically what happened to my 15 month old. Herself and another pre-social-being locked eyes across the foam ladybird. Rosie was going in for the chat, however her ‘friend’ must have misread the signals and instead used her vicious baby claws to grab Rosie by the tiny skin between eyes and temples. The other mum came swiftly on the scene in apology for her baby Bear cub and could be seen apologising her way around the entire toddler section.
It’s not just the cat fights and toy tug-o-war you have to be wary of, really you’re taking your life in your hands in these places; they’re a cesspit of snot, dribble and God knows what other bodily fluids. As kids happily suck on coloured ballpit balls I imagine a stampede (herd?) of tiny bacteria charging down their throats and am sure they now have the plague.
But the ball pit, one of my own favourite places as a kid. Really I’ve no idea why, and I don’t think I new why I liked it so much back then either. At one point today while the girls were playing in said pit, a little skin coloured fish could be seen poking it’s wee head up. Turned out it was a boy. He had been doing a great job of hiding on his brother, who proceeded to show me his bellybutton and sore finger simultaneously.
I wonder do jungle gym workers (do they have a title? I feel like they should.. zookeepers?) find long lost kids in the ball pit at closing time?