6 Pumpkin rice was a no-go after all | Until my child starts eating

Series: "Until my child starts eating"
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Since that morning when she ate the corn rice, I had felt a little lighter.
Every day, she would only eat plain white rice. In the midst of that, the fact that my daughter had gobbled up the corn rice was a great joy to me, and it was also a ray of hope that "maybe, just maybe, the things she can eat will start to increase little by little."

And so, I think I got a little carried away.
"Maybe I'll try pumpkin rice next."
Carrots and green vegetables were still a bit of a hurdle. But pumpkin... back when we first started weaning, my daughter liked it and ate it often. Boiled until soft, with a creamy sweetness. It didn't have as much aroma as corn, but it had a gentle flavor. If I mixed it into white rice, maybe she would eat it again.
Thinking that, I cut the pumpkin into small pieces that day, simmered it until soft, and then mashed it. I mixed in a tiny pinch of salt, put it on the rice, and stirred it together.
When it comes to pumpkin rice, many recipes call for cooking cubed pumpkin along with the rice, but I felt it might be easier for my daughter to eat if there were no chunks left. With that in mind, I decided to try making it into a paste and mixing it into the rice this time.
The warm, orange-tinted rice wasn't as vibrant as the corn rice, but it had a somehow comforting color, and I nodded to myself, feeling satisfied.

The problem was my daughter's reaction.
When I put a spoonful on a spoon and offered it to her with an "Open wide," my daughter stared at the rice and froze. The moment the spoon touched her lips, she turned her face away.
"…Huh?"
Even when I offered the spoon again, she kept her mouth tightly shut.
It was a completely different reaction from when we had the corn.
The expectations that had been swelling up until just a moment ago seemed to deflate with a soft hissing sound.

If it had been before, I think I would have been much more disappointed.
I spent so much time making it. She had eaten it before. I thought for sure this would work.
I would let my expectations run wild, and then I would let myself get depressed. There were times when I couldn't help but sigh at the dinner table.
But on this day, I was able to think, "Well, it can't be helped."
Perhaps it was because the memory of that morning's corn rice was still firmly with me.

The moment my daughter looked straight at the spoon and took a bite. The way she chewed, and when I asked, "Is it yummy?" she gave a small nod. I know that one bite. That's why, even if today didn't work out, I can believe that she might eat it again someday.

Even if it's not strong enough to say "everything will be fine," the fact that I didn't get as depressed as before was a big change for me.
Even if it looks like we're taking a step back, we are moving forward little by little. Just being able to believe that makes today's mealtime feel a little bit gentler.

Because of that one bite, I was able to think about trying again, and even if I failed, I could keep smiling without stopping in my tracks.
Eating is growing. And perhaps my own heart, as the one feeding her, is growing little by little, too.

*

Next time, I'll be talking about finger foods—something I knew I "should do," but my heart just couldn't keep up with.