I’m 125 Years Old.

OK 125 is in mouse years; in human years I’m half that. All right slightly more than half if you want to quibble. This is how it works courtesy of the BBC’s excellent prog ‘The First 1000 Days.’ The egg that I’m created from, unlike sperm, which is made on the day, originated when my mother was born. As she developed in her mother’s womb my mother’s lifetime’s supply of eggs were formed in hers; I just happen to be one of them, in fact the only one that met a tall dark handsome wiggler. So me as an egg began life in 1915. Now my egg of 1915 was created in her mother’s womb that dates back to 1886 when her mother was born, so although I wasn’t around in 1886 I was originated in a womb that originated then. I mean don’t ask me to remember any of it I’ve got a terrible memory. So I’m 125 and still going strong. The reason I raise this impressive longevity is its effect on my health. As well as considering my history of bad habits I need to consider my life as an embryo and before that as a dormant egg, and before that as the womb housing its imminent life. So far so historical, but I have sons and they, should they show any inclination in that direction, which doesn’t look likely at the moment, and which if I was a Jewish mother I’d be sorely disappointed about, will also have offsprings. And when they arrive they’ll already be around eighty! Their womb housing will have been formed before the war and subject to rationing, bombing and blackouts. Their egg will have passed sleepily through the Beatles, Flower Power and The Clash, and the final breathing part of their existence will arrive just in time for our economic melt down. The First 1000 Days tells of our intimate connection with this long, normally overlooked preamble. And not just on the mother’s side, the wigglers have history too.