Today Mummy is taking The Baby to a baby sensory room, as part of her ongoing mission to ensure the little one has a diverse range of stimulating and inspirational life experiences and grows up an all-round interesting human being. This is Mummy’s first baby sensory experience. She is a baby sensory virgin, and is not quite sure what to expect.
“Welcome to The Sensory Room!” gushes the room leader. “First, you must remove your shoes, for that which lives within this room is sacred and beautiful, and shoes must not desecrate it!”
Mummy has heard tell of the wonders that are contained within a baby sensory room, but has delayed popping her baby sensory cherry due to various other ‘experiences’ Mummy has endured in the name of furthering the darling one’s holistic development.
For example, there was the music group where the high-pitched singing lady went round holding up each baby in turn, so they could perform a solo percussion piece to their own verse of “This is the way we play our instruments.” All of the babies, in turn, shook their little shakers in an oh-so-adorable fashion. RB, however, took the opportunity to give a lengthy recital on her bottom trumpet, the effort of which caused her to drop her shaker on the head of another baby, much to Mummy’s mortification.
Or the time when Mummy took The Baby to Rhyme Time at the library, in order that she be exposed to quality works of poetic genius from an early age. RB dribbled so thoroughly on the squishy mat while Mummy was engrossed in meaningful conversation about the literature being covered, that the nice librarian slipped over in it. Oh the shame.
Understandably then, Mummy is somewhat nervous of the sensory room but is determined to partake in this most magical of experiences. The door is opened and Mummy is allowed in.
It is a strange place.
Lava tubes and disco balls adorn one corner of the room, whilst on the other side a ball pit pulsates with multicoloured lights. There is headache-inducing ambient music, and squishy cushions stacked in a dark corner (Mummy suspects, to hide their dubious stains.) Two scantily-clad toddlers are running laps, repeatedly tripping over their own feet as they do so.
Contrary to expectation, it strikes Mummy that such an experience is likely to inspire only undesirable life choices in the little one, reminiscent as it is of a dated, seedy nightclub. She makes to leave, but Rebel Baby is already waist-deep in the ball pit with an older boy, having the time of her life in pink neon lighting. Oh dear, thinks Mummy, it has begun.