The Stages of Life

In this article, I shall document the stages of your life.

Yes, that's right. This article is about YOUR life. YOUR.

Let's begin, shall we?

Conception

A sperm wiggles its way into an egg. Some chemicals from the sperm fuse with some chemicals from the egg. A chemical reaction sparks something. You.

You begin as a single cell, but you rapidly multiply and grow. You know, sort of like a tumor.

Soon, you are so big that your mother has a very large bump in her stomach to accomodate you. A large lump in the middle of her stomach. You know, like a tumor.

Then comes the time for you to pass through the gates of life. You leave the moist, warm room of your mother's womb and enter a much colder, dryer room.

Birth

You begin life by rolling out of your mother into the hairy arms of a doctor. He holds you. He pokes you. He measures various parts of your body. He stamps you. He takes samples from you. Then he writes down some numbers on a piece of paper. These numbers have something to do with your weight and so forth. It is the first time you will ever be defined by numbers. More will follow. Later in life, you will be defined by grades. And by your social security number. And by your wages. And by the number of armadillos you sexually assaulted that week. If you're like me, your armadillo rape count is pitifully low, which puts you in a very low part of society. Whatever that means.

Anyway, the doctor hands you to your mother. Your mother gives you a name, which is a sort of nonsense word that you learn to respond to. You will also learn to respond to other words like "DUCK!" and "OBLONG SHAPED CAPSULE!!!"

You are slightly damp.

Your mother snuggles you, she cuddles you, and she gives you a rattle. The rattle is far too large for your little hands to carry, but you are still very grateful for the gesture. Then you pee on her.

Babyhood

As an infant, you are basically a blob. You kind of wiggle around. Your parents give you candy and they kiss you and they hug you and they let you watch courtroom dramas. Like a sponge, you absorb everything. Also, like a sponge, you tend to seep. You are rather moist. You stare at things. You do not yet know.

Toddler...ism?

You learn to walk, which means you can pick your nose WHILE moving. You are learning the art of efficiency.

Your parents give you your first dime. You put it in your nose.

Then they potty train you. This means that they teach you how to pee in a bowl.

This is what makes human beings different from members of the animal kingdom: animals pee on the ground, while humans pee in toilets. The miracle of plumbing. The pee still ends up in the earth, of course, but we can pee in the comfort of our own homes.

Childhood

You play with a lot of plastic toys. You go to school and play with a lot of plastic toys. You go sledding. You write letters to Santa Claus.

Adolescence

At this point in your life, you develop acne and start to get more homework. You suddenly find sledding and toys uninteresting. You become horny. Your body undergoes a transformation of some sort. You are a big blob instead of a little blob. You find yourself completely obsessed with the opposite gender. You become an internet junky.

Adulthood

You wear a suit. You carry a suitcase around. You have an apartment. You have a goldfish.

You have.

Interjection: the difference between childhood and adulthood. As a child, you play with plastic toys. As an adult, you are a plastic toy.

You are employed. Employment means you don't have to worry about what kind of suit to wear, because someone else will tell you. You pile up pieces of paper. Then you pile up more pieces of paper.

Marriage

Suddenly, eyes.

One pair of eyes.

You find this pair of eyes. It shines through the murk.

The eyes are gorgeous, and they call to you. They are beacons. You forget everything else.

You wake up in the morning and you see those eyes in your head. The eyes of her. And/or him.

From here, things could get very happy or very sad. I'll go with the happy option, because it doesn't involve motor oil.

You marry her.

This means that an old man in a colorful outfit mumbles at you while you hold her hand. Then he tells you that you are allowed to kiss her. You do so.

Some bacteria from your mouth transfers to her mouth, and introduces itself to the bacteria in her mouth. They get along splendidly. This is the true mark of a happy marriage.

Parenthood

Some time passes, and suddenly you find yourself taking care of a miniaturized friend. A child. A baby.

You teach it to walk and laugh and pee.

You teach it about being happy and free.

You love it and soon it's 23.

Old age

Old age means you finally have all the free time you ever wanted.

You spend most of it napping.

Your wife still has the same eyes. The eyes that fill you with so much emotion, you feel like you'll explode (but you refrain from doing it, because you don't want to stain the curtains). Except now there are wrinkles around them. Canyons around a lake.

Except less dirt. And more soul.

DNA.

Death

Death is when you lie down and your body turns into an inanimate object. Like a chair or a sofa, except a bit less fun to jump on. You sort of resemble an electrical instrument. Like a TV set with a smashed screen and broken antenna.

That's just your body though.

Your soul. I'm not sure what happens to your soul.

I know about as much about that as I did when I was a single cell.

That is, I'm not sure. But I'm glad I'm here on Earth for the moment. Not there. In the unknown. The black question mark. The undeniable noodle.

That concludes this article. Next week, I'll be documenting the steps of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Remember, lots of peanut butter, and ABSOLUTELY NO RAT POISON!!!!

Cheers!

--Your Friendly Neighborhood Wombat