We have finally succumbed to the pressure of having a personal contraption to bounce on – a trampoline. Before I had kids I used to marvel at the sheer quantity of trampolines in people’s back-gardens when looking out of the window of an aircraft. To an alien they must look like some form of transport. I couldn’t understand why it was so important to be able to jump, on a regular basis, at home and that the need is so desperate that you need to have a permanent structure in your back garden. One of my friend’s more wealthier families she nannies for actually dug out a pit for their trampoline to create an ‘infinity’ look (and to avoid the rather nasty looking dead grass patch that can happen under them.)
Since having kids I have discovered how much enjoyment trampolines generate. My dad was the first in our family to get one and I was one of the first to jump on it. But seeing my Dad jump around and very nearly lose his balance and tip the whole bloody thing over was priceless. I didn’t realise how much of a challenge it was going to be for my pelvic floor and found it particularly tricky not to let a little bit of wee out (sorry). In an attempt to do this I practised the pelvic floor exercises that the midwife told me to do while I was pregnant. Why is that when doing this your eyebrows go up – try doing it now while keeping your eyebrows in the same place – not easy.
So we did some research and are now the proud owners of a trampoline that looks like it has landed from space – it has legs that are spread out like the landing feet of a rocket and it has a tent on top to keep the jumping sproglets intact. We haven’t had a chance to try it out yet as by the time hubby had inserted the last ‘pole A into hole B’ it was dark. So I will report on its success tomorrow (providing it doesn’t piss down with rain).
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Thanks for reading.