Today, I bought the damn radishes.
After weeks of Ophelia reaching out of the cart toward the bright magenta-red clusters of the produce section of the grocery store, and me distractedly telling her “maybe next time” or “that’s not on our list for today”, I finally seized one of the plastic bags and loaded a bunch of radishes inside it. The joy on her face as she beheld my act of generosity was a reward in and of itself, but I was secretly smirking, thinking of the face she’ll likely make when she tries one for the first time.
I’m sure she thought they looked like berries, having never tasted anything like them before.
“What do you think they’ll taste like?” I asked of her as we continued to shop, and she happily replied, “Good, Mom! I can’t wait!”
At lunch time, Ophelia decided she wanted to eat her first-ever radish raw, and of course, whole. So I sat opposite her and watched intently as she went in for a crunching bite, quite like how one takes a bite out of an apple.
As her mother I knew she would most likely like it, as she likes most vegetables raw. I’ve been so fortunate to have such an adventurous eater, and I can’t help but think it has to do with the fact I never said “really, radishes? I don’t think you’ll like them. Why don’t you choose something else.” But I still was expecting a tiny expression of disgust upon that first bite. But no! She kept on chewing and asked for another whole radish, even after saying, “it is a little spicy” and reaching for her cup of water with those cute hands; her full bottom lip curling beneath the mouth of the cup.
I ended up eating a few radishes, myself. We crunched on our raw radishes together at the table, and she smiled at me in that grateful way she does when a particular moment is special to her.
I’m so glad I bought the damn radishes.
