I would’ve laughed at this thing six months ago. Probably even felt sorry for friends with children who had to have this sitting anywhere in their house. It’s big, clunky and loud.
Roscoe’s outgrown his bouncer and swing, however, and the jumparoo has made it’s way into our living room. And it’s awesome.
It’s still big, clunky and loud, but so is a muscle car. This is the 1970 Camaro of baby stuff.
Yesterday, I was home with Roscoe while ice was taking over the south. He spent most of the time in the jumparoo while I toiled away at emails and other work-related tasks. I heard him…to stick with the muscle car thing, let’s say rumble. I heard him rumble. I thought, I’ll wait to change his diaper. Just one more email. And I’ll knock out this radio estimate. And this job update. Meanwhile, Roscoe couldn’t be happier. Jump, jump, jump.
Now, gravity and engineers ensure that most of the time things end up in the seat of the diaper for easy clean up. The jumparoo, however, and my lack of urgency, ensured that Roscoe was guaranteed a…well, to stick with the muscle car thing, let’s say a racing stripe.
Roscoe had a racing stripe from waist to neck, up his back.