Last week, on one of those long-awaited crisp and sunny spring days, I decided that I would take my daughter, Talia, 3, to the Central Park Carousel.

It’s not that I really wanted to go to the carousel. But as any parent of two or more children can attest, sometimes you have to force yourselves to accompany your younger children during certain activities, to ensure that you’ve spent enough time together, as well as to give them all the benefits and exposure that you’ve so lovingly heaped upon your firstborn. Trips to Disneyland, Six Flags Great Adventure, or any zoo immediately come to mind. The more children you have, the more relevant this theory becomes.

So, out of guilt — there, I admit it — my fourth child and I slowly made our way to the carousel. I say “slowly” because the only way to get to the carousel is to walk from Central Park West or Fifth Avenue, which we did, admiring the flowers, birds, and trees that we saw along the way.

When we got there, Talia’s eyes lit up. The Central Park Carousel is magnificent. Originally situated outside Coney Island, the carousel is hand-painted and the horses are nearly life-size. Talia is obsessed with horses, and there in front of her very eyes were so many of them, all together. I, on the other hand, took one look at the carousel and knew I was in trouble. I quickly looked away — but not before feeling a wave of nausea spread over my entire body.

I hadn’t been on a carousel in decades, and it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t enjoy the sensation of being whirled around ever so quickly, while going up and down at the same time. Standing there, while trying to avoid looking at the carousel, all I could think of were the dozens of fishing trips in Florida I took as a child — trips during which I spent a considerable amount of time throwing up over the side of the boat. Was I going to throw up on the carousel in front of Talia? That would be nothing short of mortifying.

“Let’s go, let’s go, Mommy,” Talia said, pulling my hand toward the entrance. It was clear that Talia was too little to go alone. And it was clear that she was going. The question was — how many times? Could I bring her all the way here and have her ride only once? I didn’t want the excursion to end in tears. Then again, I could barely face the thought of one ride, let alone multiple rides. I had to choose a number and stick to it.

I swallowed deep and bought tickets for three turns.

I can handle this, I thought. I’ll just pick a spot on the horizon and keep my eyes right on it. Talia took great care choosing which horse she was going to ride. She also took great care choosing the horse I was going to ride.

“Let’s Go Fly a Kite” blared from the carousel’s original band organ. Up and down. Up and down. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” up and down. Up and down. “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree,” up and down. Up and down.

I have never been so happy to see a concession stand as I was when I finally staggered off of the carousel. Popcorn! It was going to cure everything. As Talia delighted over her Life Saver popsicle, I shoved handful after handful of popcorn into my mouth, willing it to calm my stomach.

It did. As we passed the Heckscher Ballfields, and meandered our way back across the emerald park, lit up with so many shades of bright green, I felt grateful for the privilege to live in such a rich city. A city with four seasons. A city so beautifully planted. A city with so many treasures for children.

I also felt grateful that I had survived the carousel without throwing up. A different kind of gratitude, I know — but believe me, just as heartfelt.

sarasberman@aol.com