Welp, I took Tylenol while I was pregnant and gave my child Autism.
I had a stressful job, and a stressful boss who I cared far too much about impressing. Thus, tension headaches. They told me acetaminophen was safe. And two of those was much better than the five Ibuprofen I down for other aches and pains. Obviously I should have toughed everything out like they did in the olden days.
Luckily, I’m not new to the self-blame game. I blamed myself for Max’s challenges way before the president attempted to learn how to pronounce acetaminophen. I used to say that Max caught autism from a Wal-Mart shopping cart. I never registered for one of those floofy cloth things that parents put over the cart seat to keep their child from sharp edges and like, germs.
I know that shopping carts don’t cause Autism. They might next week though, anything is possible with this administration. Max has a great immune system though, and I credit Wal-Mart germs for that.
Back in the olden days, they thought Autism was due to frigid mothering, which, truly sounds like something a man would say after an affair. Frigid mother = frigid partner = frigid mother. A chilly cycle. But, maybe I spent way too much time with the phone or a book when I should have been engaging with my child. Playtime can be boring A.F.
Last month, before everything was Tylenol’s fault, vaccines caused Autism. Max got three vaccines at his last doctor’s visit and he’s not any more autistic than usual. Still, there’s so much skepticism drifting about that some got stuck in my brain. I’m with the science, but the skeptics are so loud.
Environmental factors might cause autism. I’ve likely got hella microplastics floating in my bloodstream, and maybe they flipped a special genetic switch in Max. Or maybe it was because Max spent a whole pregnancy living a stone’s throw from a factory. Or maybe it was whatever witchcraft was present in our tiny village that makes for an alarmingly large ginger population.
Maybe it was the state of things in utero. I was so anxious while I was pregnant that I forgot to enjoy being pregnant. I worried about inadvertently killing Max. And all that toxic cortisol couldn’t have supported a Live, Laugh, Love uterine experience.
Maybe I shouldn’t have switched to formula. Maybe I should have stayed at home. Maybe I let him have too much screen time. Maybe the dog carried it in. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I have to believe that every mother, when faced with her child’s challenges, wonders what she did to contribute to the struggle. I have to believe this because I can’t be the only guilt-ridden, fucked up individual out there.
Thing is, it doesn’t really matter what causes Autism. I am sad that Max struggles more than his peers. I am sad that kids can be total assholes and that the world is a judgy place. But I am not sad that Max is who he is. He is delightful and healthy. If you took away Autism with whatever wackadoo “cure” they’re promoting, would I still have my same child?
I probably didn’t do everything I could during pregnancy to assure a healthy baby. And I can’t even count the millions of times I’ve fucked up in the 11 years Max has been alive. Sometimes I’m not sure what I should save for first: braces or therapy?
Acetaminophen is the last in a long, long line Things to Feel Mom Guilty About. I’ll deal with that guilt in due time, after I finish atoning for all the other ways I screwed up.
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