Let’s dive headfirst into the soul-sucking chaos that is autism and special diets. Buckle up, friends. This one’s got all the fun of a kale smoothie in a paper cut.
Now, I know the autism diagnosis itself is enough to send most parents into an emotional tailspin of Google searches and wine. But just when you think, “Okay, I can do this,” life throws in bonus features-like anxiety, ADHD, intellectual disabilities, and the cheery on top: gastrointestinal mystery theatre.
Oh yes, the gut. That elusive, overdramatic organ that apparently sends memos to the brain with the subject line “Let’s Ruin Mom’s Day”.
Because it’s not enough that my son has autism.
No, he also has an autoimmune disorder with a diet so restrictive he basically eats like a free-range cow with food sensitivities.
Here’s what he can’t have:
Eggs. Dairy. Anything acidic. Chocolate. Gluten. Joy.
Here’s what he can have: Grass. Air. Organic sadness.
Sounds like a blast, right?
Every day is a game of What’s for dinner? Featuring the same three acceptable ingredients and a son who’s fixated on what he can’t eat like it’s breaking news. As if maybe today, out of sheer kindness or confusion, I’ll reply, “You know what, buddy? Ice cream is fine now. Science changed its mind.” Spoiler alert: I won’t. But that doesn’t stop him from asking.
And for families whose child doesn’t have a medical condition, autism still comes with its own culinary quirks. Namely, eating the exact same food every day for 12 years with the intensity of a Michelin-starred chef’s sworn loyalty to one brand of truffle.
If you’ve ever looked into another autism parent’s eyes while discussing their child’s meal plan, you’ll recognize that haunted, pleading look that says, “Please don’t judge me when I tell you my kid eats only beige food and ketchup.” To which, I always respond with: “My kid hasn’t had a vegetable since 2008. You’re in good company.”
We do what we have to do. We become label-reading, recipe-altering, Pintrest-failing, allergen-avoiding food magicians. We try to make kale chips sound like Doritos. We try to explain to therapists that “exposure” to new foods isn’t as simple as putting it on the plate-it’s an emotional landmine with a possible side of projectile anger.
But through all the nonsense-the grocery store breakdowns, the birthday parties with smuggled rice crackers, the millionth conversation about why tomatoes are acidic-there’s also something beautiful. It’s in the way our kids trust us, even when we say, “No, you still can’t have pizza,” for the 85th time that week. It’s in the effort we make to help them feel safe in a world where even food can be overwhelming.
So whether your child eats five things or fifty, whether it’s because of medical needs or sensory hellscapes, I see you. You are not alone. You are doing a great job-even if dinner tonight looks like it came from a dystopian cookbook called Recipes for the Digestively Damned.
Just remember: if cows can thrive on grass, so can our kids.
Probably.
With love, rice milk and a side of rice crackers.
One Tired Mom With a Fridge Full of Hypoallergenic Hope.
