He pulls the horse down on top of him, then he yells, "Stuck!! Stuck!! Mommy, help! Help!" And I come running to rescue him, as any good mother will do.
Well, I came running the first time. Now, I call from the other side of the room, "Tuck, you're fine. Please get up on your own this time. You can do it. Yes, you can. Tuck, just push the horse off you. Yes, you can. Okay, I will help you. See? All better. Please don't do that again."
And less than two minutes later, he does it all again.
Perhaps it is my fault; when I respond to his crises with great sympathy and rescue him from harm, the degree of maternal nurturing feels a bit intoxicating to him, and he needs to have it again and again. And yet I simply cannot ignore him when he needs me.
The desire of my heart is to teach my children that I will always be there when they need me, but that they do not always need me.
So far, he believes he needs me. At least right now, in this moment, to rescue him from that blasted horse.
And so I do.