Sometimes-in spite of all of the time we spend studying and worrying-it seems like we put our helpless little baby down for a second and the next thing we knew, a demonstrative toddler was running for his toy box.

I’ve read that a baby spends the first 18 months of life building new pathways in the brain. The brain then spends the rest of life figuring out which pathways are unnecessary and shutting them down.

So we try to use this formative time as best we can by stuffing Owen’s head with as much as we can: play dates, story books, dancing, field trips…By the end of the day, he has a lot to process.

Sometimes, our efforts have a visible effect and we get to watch the consolidation of the day’s memories take place as he heads off to dreamland.

In the light projected by his crib toy, he fidgets a bit. Lying on his side, he practices waving hello and goodbye to people, as he did during his first trip to the Boardwalk . Sometimes, he’ll kick or reach up for a hand as he practices walking. Sometimes, we hear a melodic murmur or two as he practices his favorite words…"doggie, mommy, car…"

In the darkness of his room, I wonder how far back I can go sifting through my own memories.

I remember loving the game of horsy as much as Owen does. I’d run over to my dad, or my uncle and jump on them anticipating the ride of a lifetime. Now the word "horsy" sends Owen shrieking with joy across the room to find my back.

I remember how far away and exotic any activity outside of my room sounded from my crib. If I heard laughing, there must have been a party going on. If I heard music in another room, it sounded mystical.

That’s about as much as I can glean from my earliest memories, that the world was magical. I couldn’t wait to get back out into it each day. But first, I’d have to go to sleep, and dream.

I hope that is similar to what Owen is thinking each night as he grabs for his stuffed dinosaur and puts the day’s memories away into the toy box of his mind-a toy box much like the one in our living room.

It’s still just a little too deep for him, but big enough to hold what he collects. Each night, he teeters on its edge grasping for the treasures inside.