Yes, there are limits to just how far one will go, as a parent, to console and comfort one's dear, sweet child. I have certainly reached mine.
I should, first, mention that Max does not care for wearing clothing these days. He will inevitably take off whatever he is wearing, most particularly his diaper. Since we are in the throws of potty-training and it's summer, it's really no big deal. Until today.
Max fell onto one of his toys and started crying. He crawled up onto the sofa, where I was sitting, as I asked him where he was hurt. While he proceeded to get onto his hands and knees, facing away from me, he told me "here" as he pointed to his bottom. I said "poor baby" and gave a gentle pat on the rump. Again, he pointed and with more urgency in his voice he said "HERE!" I asked "what do you want me to do?," as I sit there with his lil' pooper staring right at me. He says "KISS IT!"
This was one of those moments when I wished my husband had been there with me. I flashed on the expression that would have been on his face. I'm sure the expression on my own face was worthy of a Kodak moment.
All I could do was make a kissing sound and purse my fingers together and give a little pat with them. No questions were asked. Max popped right back up, healed of his injury, as only a mommy's (or daddy's) kiss can do. I had reached my limit. Kissing boo-boos is my job, my pleasure even...just not there.