“Yuuuuuuuuuuurrrkkk,” my four-year-old son, Alex, suddenly erupted, emptying his stomach onto the polished wooden table. I stared in disbelief, glancing around the nearly vacant restaurant. A small mercy, I thought.
In an effort to escape the daily monotony of parenting, I had decided to treat myself to lunch at a nearby Japanese restaurant, bringing Alex along. Sushi was a rare delight for me. Naturally, I had packed his lunch, a familiar combination of string cheese, yogurt, and a fruit pouch—his daily staples even now, at age nine.
As soon as we entered, Alex began to complain. “It stinks!” he protested as we settled into one of the empty booths. He squirmed on the cushion, making a scene that was anything but what I had hoped for.
“Please, sit still,” I urged, but as the server took my order, Alex slid off his chair and onto the floor.
“Get back up now,” I said firmly.
“But Mom, it smells!” he insisted.
“That’s just how sushi is,” I replied, trying to maintain my patience. “Sit up and behave.”
He complied but, within minutes, was back at it again.
What was happening? While I knew Alex could be curious and stubborn, I didn’t expect this level of resistance.
“Back. Here. Now,” I commanded, my patience waning. He trudged back to his seat, hands folded neatly on the table. Just as I thought we were in the clear, he opened his mouth and vomited.
As disbelief settled in, one thought hit me: I should have known. The smell.
From six months old, Alex had refused baby foods with meat or strong-smelling vegetables. As he grew, his rejections of unfamiliar foods became more pronounced, leading me to scour parenting blogs and consult our pediatrician. We eventually reached a simple conclusion: let him eat what he wanted, as long as he met his growth targets.
By age three, I realized he was primarily consuming bland foods—mozzarella cheese, rice cakes, bread, and bananas—none of which had much odor. Experts identified Alex as having sensory processing challenges. While he had learned to cope with some tactile sensitivities, his aversion to strong smells remained a significant barrier to expanding his diet.
Specialists guided us through occupational therapies designed to help him interact with food. The first step was to simply remain in the same room as the food—something Alex struggled with during family meals, often retreating to another room during Thanksgiving dinners. There, he would consume his string cheese and yogurt, while my heart ached watching him miss out on the family feast.
Despite our best efforts, we’ve seen only minimal progress. Now at nine, Alex’s diet includes dairy, eggs, fruits, nuts, breads, and baked goods. I still find myself awake at night, worrying about the nutrients he’s lacking.
Yet, Alex’s heightened sense of smell isn’t just a challenge; it’s also a remarkable gift. Much like a superhero with unique abilities, he navigates the world differently than most.
During our visits to the school’s lost and found, while I rummage through jackets searching for names, Alex simply sniffs them out. “This one’s mine,” he’ll declare, and he’s right about four out of five times.
In our bedtime routine, as we read side by side, he’ll snuggle close and make keen observations. “Your hair smells like popcorn and old books,” he remarked one night. “Oh, you had pesto today,” he correctly noted another evening.
Sometimes, his comments seem more like wishes than observations. “I wish people didn’t have to eat food,” he’d mumble before drifting off to sleep.
Living in the Oakland hills, we once woke to the smell of smoke from a nearby fire. While many of us were panicking, Alex was quick to identify the scent, reassuring me that it was just someone grilling.
Aside from the two local eateries that cater to his tastes, my husband and I can take him anywhere, packing his preferred food discreetly in my purse. Since that embarrassing incident at the Japanese restaurant, Alex’s behavior has improved significantly.
One evening at a wine bar, I asked him to sniff our glasses and share what he smelled. “This one smells like dirt,” he said of mine, “and Dad’s smells like berries.” He was right about the earthy notes of my wine and the fruity essence of my husband’s. I caught the curious look from our server, who seemed uncomfortable with the whole situation.
We joke about Alex potentially requesting plain pasta on a date, but beneath the humor lies a genuine concern. What if he always remains this way?
These days, Alex embraces his quirks boldly. When meeting new friends, he openly shares, “I’m not really an eater. I only eat white foods and fruit.” This directness seems to disarm others, allowing him to take ownership of his unique dietary preferences.
Sometimes, I pause to imagine what it’s like to be him. Is it akin to a dog hearing high-pitched sounds we can’t detect? I remind myself to step into his shoes more often so he doesn’t feel isolated. But let’s face it: we all live in our own sensory worlds, navigating life through our individual experiences.
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Summary:
Alex’s heightened sense of smell, a challenge in his early years, has become a remarkable gift that he navigates with confidence. While his dietary preferences remain limited, his unique ability to identify scents has proven beneficial in various everyday situations. As a parent, embracing his differences has become a journey of discovery, showcasing how sensitivities can shape our experiences in profound ways.