Happy Conception Day!

With the exception of keeping poor people really poor forever, there aren’t many issues in which you’ll find me siding with the republicans. But much to my surprise I have found another one. Both topics of stem cell research and abortion bring to the forefront an important debate: When does human life start? Does the “miracle of birth” begin sometime during the gestation process? Or is it when the baby comes out the womb? Or could it be when the child starts teething? Who knows?

After much self-reflection and several fruity mixed drinks I came to the conclusion that life begins when the sperm meets the egg. Perhaps the sperm is married to the egg. Or the sperm met the egg at an open bar and they are just having fun. Or the egg was on the rebound and emotionally vulnerable and the sperm was there at the right place at the right time to capitalize. Or perhaps the sperm simply paid a cheap Asian egg for a good time. Whatever the circumstances, life is created at that moment. It’s like if you place flower seed deep in the ground but don’t see it emerge from the soil for weeks, it doesn’t mean that it is not living/growing. If anything you should take a shit on the ground to help it grow(1).

So where was I? Ah yes, the conservatives have it right on this one. If liberal hippies had their way with the law, aborting a three year old midget named Neal would be not only legal but probably be encouraged to save on greenhouse gas emissions. And as much as I hate midgets named Neal they are living people, be it little gremlin-like annoying people, but still people(2).

Back to the topic at hand, I think we can all agree that childbirth is a beautiful process(3). Like most people I have been celebrating that glorious day consistently year after year. My extra special day, the one that reminds me that I am one year closer to death is May 8th. It is the day I made the journey through my mother’s birth canal. However, as per my logic described above, my “birthday” date has clearly been a sham for the past 25 years. Since life begins at conception, my real birthday is when my parents performed coitus to produce me. Even though it is a little embarrassing and an inherently squeamish topic, I had to call my mom in order to figure out the truth. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hey mom what’s up?

Mom: Hi beta, how are you?

Me: Good. I have a quick question… when did you and dad have sex that resulted in you being pregnant with me?

(Phone drops. Mom apparently faints and falls to the ground)

Me: Oh god damn it…

Honestly, I would be speechless and a little freaked out if she actually had an answer ready for me. Unfortunately I am now left to approximate my true birthday. Going nine months back seems to be a safe bet. With my old birthday being May 8, 1981, my new official “conception day” is August 8, 1980. One drawback to this new system of acknowledging the beginning of your existence is that you are automatically nine months older than you thought, which means I’m 26. But on bright side, I can finally legally have sexual relations with a 17.25 year old girl without getting judging looks from society. Everyone wins.

1 Wow, I totally nailed that argument.
2 A little known fact: Most midgets named Neal simply walk out of their mother during childbirth because of their unique stature.
3 If by “beautiful process” you mean “visually repulsive and vomit-inducing”