So, I guess it’s farewell then, ‘Fisher-Price Rainforest Jumperoo’.
You’ve been in our lives for a number of months now. However, the time has come for a parting of the ways.
Going back to the beginning: I admit to being rather shocked at your sudden presence on that balmy summer evening, when I walked in from work and found you just sitting in the middle of my living room like some kind of crap, colourful Dalek. I was told that you were, and are, rather sought after amongst parents wishing to provide their young offspring with a vessel for bouncy fun and sensory development. So, it came to pass that Mrs.D had travelled many miles to the dark and dangerous middle-earth (or ‘Crawley’ as it’s otherwise known) in order to collect you, having purchased you from that magical marketplace known as eBay.
Despite my initial misgivings, you proved incredibly useful. You made my daughter really rather happy as she bounced up and down with unbridled glee, despite her mum and I having to place cushions under her feet because you were a bit too big for her. She took delight in trying to reach for your fuzzy frog and intently examined your plastic butterfly. She was transfixed by your rattles and enjoyed the fact that she could turn around in your seat in order to see whatever other colourful delights were in her peripheral vision. To be honest, even your tinny music provided brief moments of entertainment before it quickly became irritating to the core.
We also knew that she was safe when in your care. Nowadays she’s mobile and we have to watch her like a hawk, but back then, we knew that if we wanted to make dinner or just have a break for 5 minutes, you would be there to look after her.
But it’s also true to say that we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, most notably about your insistence on taking up as much space as feasibly possible and your rather annoying habit of positioning at least one of your arms directly between us and the television screen.
I’ve grown tired of stubbing my toe on you and having to wrestle with your arms in order to move you a bit further back so that we can put the washing rack up. But before I say “it’s not you, it’s me”, I’ve realised that M herself gets upset when placed in your seat these days. She has more freedom now that she can crawl, you see. Bouncing was so last season.
But you seem jaded too. Maybe you haven’t psychologically recovered from that time when M unloaded her bowels all over your seat, plus the subsequent embarrassment of having to be practically dismantled in order to remove the stained material and get it into the washing machine? Maybe you are fed up with losing your status to more fascinating, smaller objects that seemingly demand M’s attention? Objects such as a small pack of tissues or one of her own socks. You are no longer centre stage, but shoved to the sidelines. Perhaps this has added to your shame? After all, nobody puts Jumperoo in the corner.
But, I digress.
Hopefully, M will have a little brother or sister one day and maybe they could have enjoyed your colourful entertainment. But in the meantime, I’m sad to say that I won’t be able to get you up into the loft without destroying the paintwork and doing myself a serious injury, so it’s back onto eBay you go.
I know that you are still popular in the outside world and I’m sure that you will provide your next family with hours of joy and bouncing. In return, I hope that they will be able to give you a larger living room in which to roam free (or just sit, whatever).
So despite everything, I want to remember the good times and I wish you (and me) a speedy and successful auction. Goodbye, Jumperoo, this one’s for you: