Confessions of an Autism Mom

When I dream of Kate, she is chronologically the age at which I feel her social and verbal skills would be appropriate and it guts me every time.




Why does it matter?

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Even though my brain knows I did not cause her autism my heart is not so sure. I continually trace my pregnancy steps as if trying to solve a crime but I constantly caution others not to fall victim to such self-hate.


Did I remember to take my folic acid?

I am positive her big sister has suffered irreparable pain and anguish due to Kate's autism diagnosis and yet she still lines up for more. 




Crippling guilt.

At times, I feel like a righteous ass for writing so confidently about a world so convoluted and beyond my cognitive grasp, as if I have some sort of handle on things.


Denial.

I avoid anyone that requires anything more from me than sharing a drink and a laugh. 


That means you.

I couldn't love her more. She is perfection to me.


I  would change her. 

For her.