courtesy Erika Thomas
Audio By Carbonatix
Okay. I admit it. I had a problem.
When I was pregnant with my son, a friend invited me to a “pregnancy party” — you know, one of those meet-ups where women compare swollen ankles, sip sparkling water, and complain about their husbands. I thought it’d be a safe space.
Instead, I walked into what looked like a cocaine party out of an ‘80s movie. There were mirrors laid out on the glass coffee table, dollar bills rolled tight, and a few very pregnant women bending down to snort neat little white lines.
Not really one to mince words, I asked: “Are you guys…snorting coke while pregnant?”
In unison they laughed, bellies shaking. “No, no! It’s Tylenol,” said Annie, a cute blonde in a striped shirt who looked like she belonged in a prenatal yoga ad. “This is the best way to get it while you’re pregnant. Doesn’t mix with your saliva. Goes straight to the brain.”
Guys, it was amazing. My back pain vanished instantly. My mood lightened. Even the baby seemed calmer, like he was doing tiny prenatal meditations. This was the good stuff. By my third trimester, I was doing lines of Tylenol like some women take Tums.
If only I’d known then what I know now.
My son is autistic, and I just know it’s my fault. If only I had been stronger. If only I hadn’t taken the easy way out with that little white straw. If only I’d been a better mom, I wouldn’t have made my son autistic.
Except…no. Let’s be clear: There is no proof linking Tylenol to autism. None. Zero. Not one legitimate study. Just two men, neither of them doctors, neither of whom have ever been pregnant, neither of them people who’ve had to waddle through Target with swollen ankles and heartburn, handing out medical advice like Tic Tacs. And helpful medical sayings like “You have to tough it out.”
And I am exhausted. Because every time someone claims to have “found the cause” of autism, it’s always the mother’s fault. She didn’t smile enough at her baby. She fed him goldfish. She was too stressed. She took a Tylenol. She should’ve made better choices. Whatever the theory, somehow it always circles back to Mom.
Do I want to know the causes of autism? Of course. But the truth is, it’s probably not one neat, sexy answer. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s multiple factors. And scientists are still figuring it out. That’s what real science does.
And here’s the kicker: When I was pregnant with my autistic son, I ate only organic, practiced yoga on my due date, did not circumcise him, and never once had a Tylenol. When I was pregnant with my non-autistic daughter, I happily ate Big Macs, was hospitalized multiple times, took the Vicodin and Tylenol my doctor prescribed, and held my mother’s hand as she died, all while raising an autistic toddler. Guess what? My daughter is not autistic. Not even a little.
So please. Stop it. Stop blaming moms. Stop tossing out junk science. Stop trying to look like heroes by declaring, “We’ve solved it! It’s Tylenol & circumcision.”
Here’s a radical idea: Fund real research. Give scientists $100 million more to study autism. And maybe, just maybe, don’t put the weight of the world’s medical mysteries on the backs of mothers who are already doing their best.
