Well, I do, it turns out.
While we were at the mall yesterday, Tuck and I rode the carousel. He's a big fan of carousels, on most days. He has been on the one at the Denver Zoo several times, and he loves it.
But not so much, yesterday.
We paid our two dollars and stepped onto the carousel, carefully choosing the very best animal to ride together. We looked and looked. Anytime I pointed to yet another colorful option, Tuck shook his head: no.
How about this zebra? No.
What about this sparkly horse? No.
How about the lion? No.
I even did my best to set him on one of them, without his permission. He did his "crazy shake" (Robb and I have named this: when he shakes his whole body as a way of showing how adamant he feels), and he wrapped his legs so tightly around my waist - you would have thought I tried to feed him to the carousel animal.
I was just about ready to ask for our money back and give up on the whole charade (who were we doing this for, anyway??), when he pointed to the bench.
Yep. Of all the choices, brightly painted, rising up and down, and even sparkling, my son chose the white bench.
And even still, he sat on my lap with his arms securely around my neck, the entire time.
So, it turns out, I am a person who rides on the bench on a carousel. I agreed to ride on the boring bench, because that's what Tucker wanted. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone as we rode around in circles... I didn't want anyone to think this was my choice, as if I was a hypervigilant, paranoid mom who chose the bench because she was too worried her son might fall off one of these ferocious beasts.
No, he chose it.
The things a mother will do in the name of her children.