MY LOVE / HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH SOFT PLAY

Michelle Thomason - 24 Nov 14

Everyone hates soft play. Everyone, that is, until they have a small child who has used up every ounce of their parents’ expendable energy until, weak at the knees, and at the edge of sanity from exhausting the circuits of trains, or tea sets, or paint, or, dare I say it, two hours plus of Peppa Pig- then, and only then, does soft play becomes appealing.

I like to think that the person who invented the first soft play centre – and I’m talking the type madeup of elaborate Krypton Factor netting obstacles, flesh burning plastic slides and squishy shapes which older children use to beat each other’s heads with- was an Orwellian-style overlord hell bent on meting out their misopedia in the recreation of a dystopian mini universe in which no one comes out alive – literally or metaphorically. That includes the parents.

However, do not underestimate the compulsion which underlines the decision to visit one of these places. Let’s face it, no sane human being would ever really choose to cross the threshold of one of these places out of true free will. Soft play isn’t for the kids, it’s tough love therapy for the adults.

It’s a form of catharsis in which we silently acknowledge parenthood is quite tough when faced with being at home all day with the ankle biters, but tougher still when faced with being out in the real world. Soft play is the demiworld which allows us to entertain the illusion that our kids are being constructively occupied while we sup gingerbread lattes and flick through Grazia.

However, this premise is fundamentally flawed. Woe betide the parent who actually does sup the gingerbread latte and pick up a magazine, browse Facebook on their phone or dare to sit in blissful, albeit brief, conversation with another adult. You will be judged. Judged because your child is not sharing, not wearing socks, shouting, whining or laying into another child. And that YOU have the temerity to not have the telepathic bond with your child to preempt their ASBO intentions.

Fay Weldon once said “the greatest advantage of not having children must be that you can go on believing you are a good person. Once you have children, you realise how wars start” She had clearly just visited a soft play centre.

This rings every time in my head when I recall a particularly challenging phase with my son. He was what the more unkind folk would call “a hitter”. Having weathered the disapproving looks, passive aggressive comments and outright verbal attacks of some parents, which even left this hard-assed mother in tears on a couple of occasions, I retreated from visiting soft play places.

He, in his tender two year old mind, never once saw this as an admonishment. In fact, I think he was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to assert his newly found strength with anyone else. When we eventually re-entered soft play society after a lengthy rehabilitation programme, he knew the corrective jargon off by heart and rattled off things like “we don’t hit, kind hands please” or “that makes me sad, please don’t do that” to other children embarking on the journey to civilisation.

My little boy had been parented to within an inch of his life, and of course he was desperate to exercise his new found sense of justice. I was comfortable in the knowledge he knew what was right and wrong and even started to enjoy visiting the soft play again so I could sip coffee in peace while he played.

That’s all very well, until, suddenly, you’re flung headlong and without warning into new territory – your child is the one on the receiving end. I’d been so used to being the one helicoptering around my son, brokering toy exchanges and negotiating apologies, that it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to deal with the flipside.

Like the occasion when I watched as another child blockade every exit of the soft play in order to imprison his pint-sized victims, which included my then two year old daughter. My son’s Old Testament id overrode his newly found inner zen, and promptly waded in like DCI Gene Hunt. Just as he wrenches a shape from the older child’s hand to liberate his sister it was, of course, at this precise moment his mother looks up to be greeted with the image of my son towering over her own progeny. I try to explain the situation, expecting a conspiratorial mother-to-mother sigh of understanding. No such luck. I felt affronted, she felt affronted, we both walked away feeling pretty crappy.

It’s not all like this, of course. If it was, no one would ponder over whether to pay for the one or two hours entry, or get their loyalty card stamped , or use it as a carrot dangler for getting their kids to put their shoes on to leave the house. As much as the kids love it, this tough love therapy has its upside for us.

In amongst the fog after having my second child, one of the only things I can really remember are the days when my friends and I met up at softplay. Whilst our older ones writhed around in the ball pit, we took turns holding each other’s newborns whilst we went to the toilet on our own for the first time that day or managed to eat lunch with the luxury of both hands. You can’t underestimate moments of oasis like this when unending exhaustion leaves you unable to question whether it’s ok to wear the same clothes for the third day in a row.

When I go with friends, it reminds me of the African proverb “it takes a village to raise a child”. We rally round each other like a co-operative, wiping each others’ kids’ snotty noses, sharing round snacks, getting each other coffee to the echoes of ‘No, honestly, get me one back next time”. We have become skilled at groundhog day conversations, where chats are punctuated by small children with sticky hands and hungry faces vying for attention. We share stories of our parenting anxieties, our kids’ successes and everything else in between.

On the occasions I have visited these places on my own with my kids, I have encountered some amazing women – and men. I’ve discussed reflux with a stay at home dad of three and politics with the owner of a big media company whilst she breastfed her twins. Parenthood is a great leveler and it doesn’t matter whether you are a CEO for a FTSE 100 company or a stay at home mum, every parent goes through similar emotions, joys, worries and experiences. Having places like soft play to go to with your children can be a very welcome and necessary thing, allowing us to feel that we’re not navigating the journey through parenthood alone.

So, although soft play might seem a bit too much like hard work at times, this tough love therapy is free, and it all comes with the promise of a latte.

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Michelle Thomason

Michelle Thomason is a mother of two and lives in London

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