A history of my son, Oscar: Born in 1991 to parents who wanted him from before he was a gleam in either of our eyes, his early childhood was fairly normal except for the fact that he seemed unusually quiet, he didn’t make eye contact and there were a few “milestones” he seemed to have passed on. He didn’t chortle at 4 months although he smiled and smiled. He didn’t hug. If he was frightened, he clutched, but he never just hugged. He didn’t wave “bye bye” at 10 months or whenever that was supposed to happen.
He didn’t walk without support until he was 17 months old—to the day, I think. He had developed a very efficient 1-knee scoot that had enabled him to get around the world, holding onto stuff. He never crawled.
At age one, Oscar started to say lots of words, then abruptly stopped and began babbling. His babbling seemed to imitate sentence structure and conversation.
At age 2, he began to make a whining drone while sitting at the table. He would push a fork or other utensil on his plate as if it were a vacuum cleaner.
He was fascinated by fans: box fans, ceiling fans.
In retrospect, we should have had him evaluated by a specialist earlier, but it wasn’t until we moved to the Kansas City area that his delays in speech, motor and social abilities became pronounced. A parent educator did the Denver Developmental screening on him: he was behind by a year or more in some areas.
I realize there's a lot of "he didn't," in the above paragraphs. Here's a small list of what he does:
plays trumpet, makes tapes of music he likes, pretends he's a radio announcer, draws pictures of houses in Kansas City, Missouri, sings beautifully.
He never ceases to amaze me or his father. We'll struggle to get him to do something, like learn to read for fun and then one day we see him reading the newspaper because he's caught the headline about a tornado or something.