Cameron eyed the bottle as the woman next to us on the bus cracked it open. “What’s that?” I told him it was a V8 juice, in a resigned sort of way. It was the five million three hundred sixty thousand eight hundred and third question in five minutes. “Juice? Mommy, I want some juice! I want some of THAT juice. Can I have some pleeeaaase?” The woman looked amused as I explained that no, he couldn’t have it.
Now, I found this very amusing, as Cameron proceeded to beg and plead. You see, the last time he’d tried V8 he had seemed to like it, then asked what it was. “Tomato juice,” I answered. WRONG ANSWER. Red, thick, salty-sweet veggies do not match a toddler’s idea-image of juice. It was clear that “MMM that was good” was warring with “But it’s NOT JUICE” in his mid. It’s not juice won, and he refused any more.
But now I was presented with an opportunity.
“I dunno Cameron. I don’t think you’re a big enough boy to drink a V8. You didn’t like it last time you had it, but you were a baby then. Only big boys like that type of drink.”
I’m a manipulative mommy. Sue me.
That was last night. Tonight, in the grocery store, he remembered and asked. I picked up a small bottle. “Are you sure?” I asked, and he nodded, reaching to put it in his cart.
We got home. He fished it out of the bag, and handed it to me. “Open it!” He remembered a moment later, just before I said anything, to add some magic. “Psssopenitmommy!” Psss being superfast please. You have to listen closely to hear it, but it’s there.
I opened it.
He took a great big gulp.
Thought about it.
And finished the whole freaking bottle. Glug.
Three adult servings of veggies right there.