Silent No More

Curly fries and a vanilla milkshake. Or maybe, just maybe, a chocolate milkshake if he was feeling adventurous. It was the same order, and it was the only thing he would eat without two hours of crying, gagging, and arguing. 

Max wasn’t a bad kid. Far from it. He was just… different. And as his Mom, the anxiety over meal times was debilitating. I had to give him multivitamins just to make sure he was getting the nutrition he needed. Doctor’s were perplexed. Speech therapists were perplexed. Food therapists were perplexed. He had no known diagnosable disorder, just an extreme aversion to new food, and to textures. 

“Vanilla milkshake?” I asked him while waiting in the drive through. I didn’t get an answer, so I glanced into the rearview mirror. He had his little face scrunched up, all six years of it, and his curls bounced as he cocked his head. 

“Strawberry,” he announced to the silence, as if that one word didn’t tilt the world on its axis. I suppressed the urge to gape. Instead, I looked back to the line and inched forward. My heart was pounding. 

“Great, bud,” I answered while gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. “Curly fries?”

Silence. I looked in the mirror again. A smile was playing at the corners of his mouth. “Straight fries.” 

I stared, and shut my mouth with a snap when I realized it was still open. “Okay.” Another few feet forward. I rolled down the window and ordered, suppressing the urge to order a vanilla shake and curly fries, just in case. When it was handed through the window, I took a deep breath and handed the meal to him. He gazed at the fries with his bright brown eyes, then tentatively put his little finger in the bag to touch them. I paused, foot on the brake, then realized I was holding up the line. I inched out of the parking lot and into traffic. 

A slurp, followed by, “Hmmm” as if he was thinking. Then, “These fries are… different.” He didn’t sound upset, just stating a fact. 

By the time we got home, he had eaten a whole entire fry. A. WHOLE. ENTIRE. FRY. And had taken TWO SIPS of the strawberry milkshake. I got him out and paused, kneeling down to get on his level.

“I’m so proud of you.” I swallowed the emotion bubbling in my throat. “You have no idea.” I blinked, and I could tell he could see the tears there. 

He gave a grin, then walked inside. As if the world hadn’t stopped turning on its axis. 

* Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder is sometimes difficult to diagnose. What’s the difference between just being a picky eater and having the actual disorder? Check out these resources. Meal times can become incredibly anxiety-producing for the child and parent alike. But getting help should bring no shame, and having understanding family and friends makes all the difference.