When I was a kid, the only time we were allowed to jump on the beds was when my mother changed out the sheets. She’d make a big deal out of parachuting them so we could have a big bubble to pounce on or we could crawl under the “tent” that lasted 5 seconds. Then she’d tell us to stop or we’d ruin the mattress.
Of course we did not believe that jumping on the bed would ruin anything. When she wasn’t around, her king-sized bed was our wrestling arena. We would also play a game where we had to stand stiffly and fall back onto the mattress without flinching while yelling, “Timberrrrrrrr.”
I understand her not wanting us to ruin her things. She knew she didn’t have the money to replace that mattress but every twenty years.
When my kids came along, I not only let them jump on the beds, I encouraged it.
Took photo evidence.
And man did they ruin those mattresses.
It happens so slowly over time that you don’t notice the damage. It took a visit from my father-in-law to make us realize that it was time to change them out. After spending one night in our guest room, he said “It felt like I slept in a rock garden last night.” He’s a funny guy, Popsie.