It’s Just One Little Yakult… Right? Where I Draw the Line as a Special-Needs Mom

Quick background: Tommy is my son. He has an intellectual disability and neurodevelopmental traits, and everything in this story is tied to that.

We have a strange little ritual in our house: Yakult cheers.

Tommy has severe, stubborn constipation. It’s one of the symptoms of his underlying condition, so it’s something we just have to live with.

His pediatrician prescribed a laxative, and he takes it every single day without fail. Even so, things don’t exactly move along.

So we added a daily Yakult. Every night after his bath, he and I clink our little bottles together. The whole sequence, from getting in the bath to the final “cheers,” is one package, and it’s a routine Tommy relies on.

It’s so normal in our house that I’ve never given it a second thought. It’s basically our way of saying, “Good job today, buddy!”

“We forgot the Yakult cheers!”

Then came last night.

Tommy was worn out from the start of the new school year, and he was nodding off in the bath. Half asleep, he got his teeth brushed, got walked to the bathroom, and got tucked into bed.

He protested, of course. There was grumbling, there were some choice words, there was a little resistance. But he was exhausted, and this round went to Mom.

Just sleep straight through until morning. Please.

A while later… it happened.

Tommy stumbled out of his room.

“We didn’t do Yakult cheers.”

“It’s late and you’re already in bed, so let’s skip it tonight” simply doesn’t get through

It was late. His teeth were brushed. He’d already been asleep. Can’t it wait until tomorrow? That’s what any mom would think.

So I tried to keep things calm and offered it as gently as I could: “You’ve already brushed your teeth, and it’s really late. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

He exploded.

Stomping on the floor.

Jumping up and down.

Throwing books.

Yelling things no one wants to hear.

And this was over a Yakult. One tiny bottle.

Honestly, I could just let him have it.

Part of me thinks, Why not just let him drink it and go to bed? It would be easier for both of us. Giving him the Yakult is a lot faster than waiting out a meltdown.

And more than that, it hurts me as his mom to see him this upset over one little bottle. So I waver. Maybe I should just let him have it.

But then I think: if I do, doesn’t that teach him that melting down gets him what he wants?

Say I give in with a “just this once.” He still walks away with a win: I threw a fit, and it worked. Won’t that lesson stick with him? And the next time I say no, won’t he just escalate?

My mind spirals like this.

At the same time, I know he isn’t just being selfish. I know he isn’t doing it to make my life difficult. Managing big emotions is simply hard for him because of his disability. But is that enough reason to just let it go? Can I really file it under “something he can’t control because of his neurodevelopmental traits” and leave it there? I go back and forth on this constantly.

He’s getting bigger

When he was little, his meltdowns were manageable. He wasn’t strong yet. I could pick him up and carry him out of the situation. Even when he threw things, it was sort of cute.

Now he’s in fifth grade. He’s bigger, he’s stronger, and the sheer force behind it all is no joke.

Throwing things. Kicking. Slamming doors. Flipping the light switch on and off. Running laps around the house.

What happens when he’s in middle school? High school? When he’s an adult?

And when he was small, flopping down and screaming in public was still tolerated. People gave us a sympathetic “Oh, poor mama, that looks tough.” But a big fifth grader doing the same thing? The air just freezes. Any bigger, and someone might call the police.

I want him to practice managing himself

I don’t need him to be an obedient “good boy.” What I want is for him to learn to manage himself. I can’t stay by his side forever, granting his every request.

When something upsets him.

When things don’t go his way.

When plans change.

When he has to give up something he wants.

I want him to slowly pick up ways to calm himself down, even if it takes him longer than it takes other kids.

“Don’t force him to give up his fixations,” they say… but really?

Whenever we go to the supermarket, Tommy starts arranging the products according to his own rules.

I remind him every single time not to touch things we’re not buying. He does it anyway.

The medical books and expert guides often say things like, “Don’t force your child to give up their fixations,” or “Redirect them to something else they’re interested in.”

Oh, come on. Something he’s more interested in than lining things up? If you know what that is, please tell me. (lol)

Leave him alone and it disrupts the store. Stop him and it’s a scene.

If I let him do it, it’s a problem for the store, and I’m sure it bugs other shoppers. I try distracting him with snacks or toys, but he ignores them completely.

Lining things up matters more to him. He can’t not do it.

So I really have no choice but to make him stop.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Negotiations with Mom fall apart, nearly every time

When he sees something he wants, he tosses item after item into the cart.

“Pick just one, please.”

And then, chaos.

He runs through the store, screaming a stream of insults at the top of his lungs. The air freezes. I can feel every stare.

But once it gets to this point, all I can do is leave him be. If I speak to him or try to stop him, it only gets worse. Waiting for him to calm down on his own is truly the best fix.

I’m sure to onlookers, I look like a toxic parent who lets her wild, aggressive kid run free. Nobody sees the disability behind it.

That part is hard.

But lately, I’ve grown a thicker skin

I used to struggle so much with the stares. The frustration of not being able to do anything for my own child. The anger at a society that doesn’t understand. The anxiety of watching more and more things become “not okay” as he gets older.

These days, though, I’ve reached a point of whatever, think what you want.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think, “I’m so sorry, everyone.” But what can’t be helped can’t be helped.

Harmless fixations? Be my guest.

Tommy’s underwear, shirts and boxers alike, is all the exact same. You know that scene where you open a drawer and it’s rows of identical items? That’s us. All tagless, of course.

His pants are the same, too. Multiple pairs of the exact same ones. I’ve bought other colors and dressier options, but he almost never wears them.

His shoes? All the same. All black.

His socks are his favorite kind, the ones that come in a pack of three colors. But out of those three, there’s one color he absolutely refuses to wear. So that color just keeps piling up.

Please, buddy, just wear them. It’s such a waste!

A fifth grader who has borrowed the same library book for a year

During library time at school, most kids pick a book one week, return it the next, and pick something new.

Not Tommy. He checks out the same book every single time. Return it, borrow it again.

That book has been sitting in our house for about a year.

Doesn’t a teacher ever say something?

And if he loves it that much, why don’t I just buy it for him?

…I literally just thought of that while typing this. (lol)

By the way, the book is called “Allergy-Friendly Snack Recipes You Can Make Without Fire.”

He’s a budding chef.

So where does “quirk” end and “something he needs to learn” begin?

Let him have his Yakult. Sure.

Same clothes every day? Fine by me.

Same library book on repeat? …Hmm, maybe not.

Identical shoes and socks? Totally okay.

But then:

Rearranging things in a store?

Tossing everything he wants into the cart?

Melting down when things don’t go his way?

Wrecking the house?

Where do I say yes, and where do I start teaching him, “Let’s stop”?

That’s my biggest struggle right now.

Another day of not knowing the right answer

To give him the Yakult or not. That’s all it is. And yet my brain leaps straight to his whole future. What happens if I let this slide? And what happens if I don’t?

Should I accept it because it’s part of his neurodevelopmental traits? Or should I start teaching him to wait now, for his own future?

Honestly, I have no idea!

Anyway, last night, we clinked Yakult bottles in the middle of the night.

Tonight, I won’t forget.

See you next time!