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Try not to rain on the parade

As I stated in the past, there’s an army of us. Each little person is as weird and wonderful as the other, but all very different. Growing up around so many babies, you would automatically think the experience would help me when raising my own. You would be wrong. Making a toddler laugh by allowing them to strike you over the head with a solid plastic object, abolishing all bed times, and feeding them caterpillar cake for breakfast is not generally deemed as text book parenting. It is however text book Uncle Nob Head-ing, and I can safely say I have a masters degree in the subject.

some of the sprogs

I boast two older sisters and we all get on really well, though it was a slightly different story when we were younger. As I’m the youngest, I quickly managed to establish a role for myself when excessive bullying took place. Very much like Switzerland, I would sit on the fence and wait to see which sister was more likely to win, and less likely to get in trouble before I joined forces. 99% of the time, it would be Jenny (the eldest) who would dish out the cruelty, purely because at the age of six she was already 5ft 11 and built like a Romanian shot putter.

Now we have all grown up and no longer make Amy sit under the table at meal times, we are closer than ever. I really am proud of the parents they’ve become, and I can only hope that I’ll be half as caring and patient as they are when the little mans here. Now, enough of the soppy bollocks, let me tell you a story…

Me, Jenny and her husband Jay decided to go to jump nation in Trafford. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s basically a warehouse full of trampolines at different angles separated with robust plastic mats. Jen had not long had my nephew Joe, and Jay had piled on the weight again, so we decided the exercise was necessary.

We began our session tentatively, acutely aware that we were the only adults amidst a sea of screaming children. Not one to show off or attract attention to myself, I held back in observation. Suddenly, I saw a fat girl with glasses, no older than eleven soar through the sky perfectly executing a triple tuck, double pike, half twist straddle with a donkey kick finish like she was Maria fucking Gorokhovskaya (a well known gymnast as per google). Inspired, I began throwing myself around like one legged ostrich, becoming more fearless with every leap.

Inevitably, a triple backwards somersault went terribly wrong and I landed on my neck, temporarily paralysing me. As I lay in fear, I could see the medics rushing to my aid. Not one to cause a scene, I screamed hysterically for an ambulance. This proved too much for my already laughing sister, who began to piss herself in the middle of 120 staring children. Luckily, she had anticipated this very event, with several extra absorbent jumbo ‘Tena ladies’ ravelled around her mid rift like a westernised female sumo wrestler. The barrier proved a worthy match against her uncontrollable bladder, until, from the back of the warehouse, Jay spotted me in distress…

Leaping with the flair of a baby hippo, he glided across the room like a bulldog in slow motion, hair bouncing softly against his ever glowing forehead as his winter man breasts danced poetically to the rhythm of his gasps. Out of breath, sweaty and tired, he hurdled in panic as his arse crack unveiled with each and every stride until eventually crashing to the floor like a giant awkward blimp.

A little bit like this

Paralysis had set in, so I could only snigger as I was stretchered off to the nurse who was awaiting me with a lollipop and a sticker. Post pregnant Jenny however lost all control and the floodplains opened, overpowering the thick layered nappy with ease causing her to urinate wildly.

Bounding through mellow puddles like a scene from ‘Singing in the rain’, we dramatically took our opportunity to make a swift exit before staff handed us a mop and bucket. Despite paying for an hour, we managed to squeeze in every drop of mayhem in under 12 minutes. Thankfully we also got to keep the complimentary jump nation ‘bounce socks’, all be it Jen’s were a tad soggy. After all of this, undeterred, the lure of ‘Jack Daniel’s chicken’ was too strong, so we to stopped off at TGI Fridays on the way home.

I suppose it is naturally inevitable, and not to be laughed at. However pale grey leggings may not be a recommended choice of ‘jump-wear’ in the future.

Disclaimer* Jen hasn’t pissed herself aggressively recently, and Jay is star of the week at our local weightwatchers.

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