How's that song go? Slippity doo-da?
Apart from falling in general, one of the worst parts of being a professional costume actor has got to be the massive potential for emotional harm. Think about it: There you are, all gussied up in your Baloo costume, a-skippin' and a-jumpin' in the 90 degree heat, when down you go.
There's that split second when the first thing that must run through your mind -- even before thoughts of your own well being -- is "Did my goddamned head come ajar?" How dehumanizing is that?
You simultaneously ignore your broken tailbone, your bruised ego, and the urge to pat mittened paw upon your costumed headpiece (what if you knock it loose?), and basically pray that some now-scarred-for-life child's wail of shattered innocence does not pierce the uncomfortably warm, darkened periphery of your getup.
Barring total catastrophe, the worst part is that you've got to get up and do it again. Because that's your job. Put on the suit and dance silently in the heat, cartoon bear. This is what you do.