Member-only story
I Had My Soul Crushed at a Playground
It was ruthless.
Recently my daughter and I were invited to a birthday party at a soft play area. I tried really hard not to go, but apparently, you have to do the dumb shit that your friend’s kids want to do on their birthdays.
It’s like the law.
(Soft play areas are indoor playgrounds with ball pits, climbing frames, mazes, and other crap of that nature.)
Most kids climb, run, and play on their own, while their parents impose judgmental looks on others and act superior. Usually while holding a coffee and talking loudly about their new Jeep.
You know the type.
However, baby and toddler parents have to leave their shoes and pride at the door and escort their children into the fiery pits of hell known as soft play.
On the day of what’s his face’s birthday party my one-year-old and I cautiously entered the soft play arena. After first looking at everyone like they were trash, my daughter wanted to play.
I whipped off our shoes, straightened our socks, and reluctantly jumped into the fight.
It began in the large ball pit. Foam balls. Plastic balls. Toys. Shivs. The iceberg that chipped the Titanic. Everything was in there.
