So I was talking to my mom, and the subject of the first few years of my life came into play. She always had a really hard time keeping an eye on me, I was one of those kids that you just couldn't watch enough, because they always found a way to get into some kind of trouble. Basically, she described it as "a miracle that I lived past the age of three." There's just so many stories that she can tell. One of the more mild ones involves me playing in a sandbox, with her literally right in front of me, watching me directly. She heard our dog bark in the background, and turned her head for a second. By the time she turned around to look at me again, I had a mouthful of toadstools. For the first portion of my life, I was in the NICU, where my mom stood beside me, and watched my heart completely stop beating, for freakishly long periods of time. I would completely stop breathing, and just watching her newborn like this just freaked her out. The thing is, there's so many more stories where I've nearly encountered death, or fairly serious injury. She watched me fall down a flight of stairs in such a way that she swears up and down my neck should have been broken, but I only had a few rug burns on my face. As far as she's concerned, God was watching out for me, otherwise I really shouldn't be alive to this day. It's kind of funny, though, because I'm agnostic, so how I'm really alive, I just don't know. It seems that before I could even consciously make decisions, I was absolutely hell-bent on my death. It just makes me wonder, was the first part of my life really a sequence of freaky miracles, or have I just been a failure from the start, dragged into this world? Forced to run the race of life, one that I may very well have decided not to partake in, should the choice have been left to me. Was I finding shortcuts to the end, only to have them jerked away from me at the last second? Were those near death encounters simply teasing me? I don't know.