Because what the internet needs is more wittering about rubbish parenting

Saturday, 27 August 2011

Heart. Stop.

Oh God. Bad, bad, bad Mammy.

I lost The Toddler.

Yesterday morning, at soft play, nattering away with my friend, and I suddenly realised The Toddler had wandered off. Had a quick scan of the vicinity, expecting to see her in the big kids' bit, heading for the inappropriately large slide or something. Nope, still can't see her. As I'm holding The New'un, my friend goes off to conduct a more thorough search of the soft play structure, after trying to reassure me that she can't have gone far. I know she's right - we are in an enclosed area, but I can still feel my heart going like the clappers (what are clappers, by the way? Anyone know?). Still no sign. Think I may be starting to panic now. What if she slipped through the gate while someone else was leaving? What if she's somehow got right up to the top of the big kids' bit and knocked herself out? (How, I'm not sure, it's called soft play, after all.) What if she's drowning in the ball pool? By now, my head is darting about wildly and I'm going "oh my God Oh my God I've lost my child I've lost my child" and I can't believe what a terrible parent I am. Then the woman next to me pipes up that there is a little area with games and rides behind the man selling portrait sessions. I rush over, and, oh sweet relief, there is The Toddler, happily sitting in a minature ice-cream van with an "Out of Order" sign on it. I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life.

And in my relief, I fell for the portrait man's marketing spiel, and am now fifteen pounds poorer, and the proud holder of a voucher for a photoshoot and a free framed 7x5 print of the photo of my choice.

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