When my 5 month old son gets restless but doesn’t want to be held or played with, he goes in the jump-jump. It’s a spring-loaded contraption that clamps onto the top of a doorway frame with a sort of two-fingered claw. Attached to the spring is height-adjusting strap that attaches to three straps that arch out to support a plastic frame of sorts with a cloth seat.
The front of the plastic support is shaped like a tray. This is truly baffling if you’ve ever seen a child in a jump-jump. I can’t imagine a single item remaining on the tray once he gets going. And if I give him an item, he launches it across the room within seconds.
So he gets restless and we put him in the jump-jump and he jumps and he jump-jumps. He coos and oohs and ahs and hoots and chirps. He slaps his hands and slaps his feet and turns and swings and bounces and sings. He thinks about baby things…teeth coming in, boobies, big sissy, Clicky the Turtle, zerbets, and chunky feet.
Oh to jump. Oh to jump-jump. Oh to coo and ooh and ah and hoot and chirp. Oh to slap my hands and slap my feet –to turn and bounce and swing and sing. Oh to think about big boy things…teeth saying clean, boobies, mother getting older, LED TV, belches, and tired feet.