Like a Kid in a... Produce Shop

Is it normal that my heart flutters a little bit at the thought of parsnips? Or that the sight of fresh blueberries, strawberries, and cranberries lifts my spirits to a new elevation? Maybe it's the pregnancy, but when I cross the threshold at Top of the Hill produce market, it's like crossing a threshold into sensory euphoria. And today, I take Jane with me.
We walk through the whole shop, which isn't hard since you can see the entire store from wherever you stand. Eight kinds of apples, exotic carrots, tantalizing herbs...they all line up before us in brightly colored rows. Jane embraces the opportunity to show off her knowledge of all the colors of the rainbow. "Red apple! Green apple. Yellow. Orange?" It also proves a prime moment to practice different voice inflections.
I quickly cross items off our list, and seek Jane's opinion on some kind of snack fruit. "Would you eat pears?" I ask her. She shakes her head and says, "No." her face completes the negatory response. We move on in our search.
I turn my back for a second and when I look at Jane again, she holds a brussels sprout. "Do you want to try some of those?" I ask her. She doesn't really answer, but I decide to take advantage of her initial interest and put a few in a bag. I've been wanting to try them for some time myself.
We pass by the onions and garlic, and Jane spots a pint-sized basket of cherry tomatoes. "Me tomatoes," she informs me. The price is right and they look good, so we pick up a basket. "Me hold it," Jane says. I let her, despite my first instinct. She picks one out of the basket, but I ask her to wait until we've bought them before she eats it. "Okay, mommy," she says in her usual cooperative tone. She then pretends to eat the tomato instead. "Mmm, yummy," she says.
We end up walking around the store a few minutes longer, and Jane manages to hold the tomatoes steady until we are walking between two other people and their carts and I'm holding a pineapple in one hand and about seven cherry tomatoes spill onto the orange tile floor. I do my best to brush them aside so that they don't squish under other people's shoes.
As we pay for our produce, Jane still holds the tomato she pretended to eat. "You've been so good! You can eat that tomato now," I tell her. Juice and seeds trickle down her chin, down her shirt. The tomato bursts with flavor too, I assume, because Jane says, "Mmm, dat's good!" She sums up our visit perfectly.