“Yuuuuuck,” my four-year-old son Jamie exclaimed, suddenly throwing up on the polished wood table. I looked on in shock and quickly surveyed the nearly empty restaurant for any sympathetic glance.
Eager for a change from the daily routine of caring for my young child, I had opted for lunch at a nearby Japanese eatery, hoping to introduce Jamie to sushi. Of course, I brought his usual lunch: string cheese, yogurt, and a fruit pouch, which he still devours daily at age nine.
As soon as we entered, Jamie started to complain. “It smells,” he grumbled while we settled into a booth. He immediately began squirming on the seat, a far cry from the lunch experience I had envisioned.
“Stop wiggling. Sit still,” I instructed, but Jamie slid to the floor instead. “Get back up!” I urged.
“But Mom, it smells!” he protested.
“That’s just how sushi is,” I replied. “Now sit and behave.”
He reluctantly complied, but just two minutes later, he was at it again. What was going on? Jamie had always been curious and strong-willed, but this was beyond mere stubbornness.
“Back. Here. Now,” I commanded, the only appropriate words remaining as I restrained myself from saying more. He returned to his seat, hands folded on the table, and I finally let out a breath. Then, he opened his mouth and vomited.
Gradually, a realization hit me: I should have anticipated this. The smell.
Since he was six months old, Jamie had rejected baby foods that contained meat and strong-smelling vegetables. As he grew, he vehemently turned down most new foods we attempted to introduce. We tried everything, scouring parenting guides and food blogs for answers.
Eventually, with our pediatrician’s advice, we allowed him to eat whatever he would, prioritizing calories over variety. Jamie was hitting growth markers and had enough energy to get through the day. By age three, I began to understand his eating preferences; he mainly consumed bland, odorless foods—mozzarella, rice cakes, and bananas.
Experts identified Jamie as having sensory processing challenges. While he was learning to cope with some tactile sensitivities, his aversion to food, driven by his heightened sense of smell, persisted.
These specialists guided us through occupational therapy aimed at expanding his food horizons. The first step was simply to stay in the same room as the food, a crucial milestone, especially since Jamie spent two Thanksgivings in a separate room, avoiding the turkey and all the savory dishes. He would eat alone, with only his string cheese, yogurt, and fruit pouch, and I felt my heart ache.
Despite our efforts, success has been limited. At age nine, Jamie’s diet consists mostly of dairy, eggs, fruits, and breads. Sometimes I lie awake worrying about the nutrients he’s missing.
Yet, his keen sense of smell has its advantages. It’s almost like he possesses a superpower. For instance, during our frequent visits to the school’s lost and found, while I sift through sweaters for nametags, Jamie simply sniffs them. “This one’s mine,” he confidently states, and he’s right most of the time!
At bedtime, as we read together, he often makes observations about my scent, like “Your hair smells like smoke and flowers.” Once, he even guessed correctly that I had pesto for dinner.
Occasionally, he wistfully expresses, “I wish people didn’t have to eat food,” before drifting off to sleep.
Living in the Oakland hills, we faced a neighborhood fire one night when Jamie was seven, and although we lost parts of our yard and decks, our house remained safe. Afterward, the smell of smoke would trigger memories of that terrifying night, but Jamie would often be the first to reassure us, “That’s just someone grilling,” sniffing the air like a skilled tracker.
While we mostly stick to the few local eateries that cater to his palate, I’ve learned to manage my discomfort when we dine out, often leaving an extra tip for the servers.
On one occasion, we found ourselves at a wine bar. My husband and I ordered red wine with dinner, and I asked Jamie to sniff our glasses and tell me what he detected. After a moment, he pointed to mine and said, “This one smells like dirt. Dad’s smells like berries.” He was spot on! The server nearby looked taken aback, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. I thought, “Come on, I’m not letting him drink it!”
We joke about Jamie politely requesting plain pasta on a future date, but I can’t help but worry. What if he actually does that? What if he never outgrows this?
These days, Jamie embraces his quirks in a way I never could at his age. He confidently tells new friends about his food sensitivities, laying it all out upfront. “I’m not really into food,” he proclaims, “I only eat bland stuff and fruit.” This tactic seems to work for him, catching others off guard.
Sometimes I pause and try to envision what life is like for him. Is it akin to a dog bothered by sounds imperceptible to the rest of us? I remind myself to step into his world more often, to share his experiences so he doesn’t feel isolated. But who am I kidding? Despite our best intentions, we all navigate our own worlds, shaped by our unique perceptions.
For more insight on topics related to parenting and food sensitivities, check out this relevant blog post. Also, if you’re curious about fertility and related issues, this resource provides helpful information.
Summary
Jamie, a boy with a heightened sense of smell, experiences unique challenges and advantages in his daily life. His food sensitivity, rooted in sensory processing challenges, impacts his eating habits. Despite the difficulties, Jamie’s keen sense of smell proves to be a remarkable gift, enabling him to navigate various situations with surprising accuracy and confidence.