The first time I ever watched a baby be birthed, I was 11 years old. My sister Megan was apparently comfortable enough to allow our ten-year-old sister and myself, along with our mother, in the room to witness this miraculous moment. I believe it was the nurse on duty, however, who thought the best place for my little sister and I to stand was at THE FOOT OF THE FREAKING BED. Let me repeat: I was eleven. There were lots of "ewwww"s and covering of the eyes.

But I still remember that moment, the one where Megan went from being a daughter and sister to a mom, as a powerful one. And all the times since then that I've watched my sisters push out babies, and that time I had a child myself, have kind of seemed like the ultimate events. I could think of nothing more significant.

And so ever since we found out that Megan's daughter - the one I watched (in horror) make her very first appearance - was pregnant, I've been in kind of a state of disbelief. Unlike most transitions in life, which happen gradually, this one feels as though it has been dropped right on my head. "Our children are having children," I've been telling myself over and over again, trying to make it a reality.

I didn't get a chance to take it all in before it just...was. My niece found out at a regular check-up that she had preclampsia. Her blood pressure was very high and there was concern for her kidneys. So they admitted her to the labor and delivery unit of the hospital, had her under observation for a couple days, and finally decided to induce labor. Six weeks early.

The whole family immediately flew into action in an attempt to get Megan from Hawaii, where she lives, to Alaska, where her about-to-have-a-baby daughter lives. We almost had her on a flight that would have had her on Anchorage soil seven hours after the labor-inducing meds were administered: She raced to the Kona airport, which is an hour and a half away from her house, and got there before the gates closed, but some glitch in the system meant the airline employees couldn't verify her confirmation code, or some shit, and they shut the gates. And wouldn't open them again when they finally figured out she should have been on that flight.

There was talk of a friend of a friend sending his private jet, but there is a reason only the very wealthy take private jets. They can be spendy.

So she got on the first flight out of Kona the next day - at 12:55 p.m. She was scheduled to arrive in Seattle at 9:30 p.m. and here at 2:30 a.m. Sunday night/Monday morning. We found a 10 p.m. flight out of Seattle that we were hoping she could make, but when her plane in Kona was a half hour late taking off, we knew that wasn't going to happen. At that point, all we could do was hope and pray that the labor was long. (The mom-to-be was on an epidural drip, so she wouldn't have minded, I assure you.)

At 6 p.m. Sunday, my mother (who is now a great-grandmother, BTW) texted the whole family (she is a technically savvy great-grandmother) that my niece was dilated to 6 and doing just fine. A HALF HOUR LATER she called me out of breath and gasping "Right now! She's having her right now!", meaning the magic number "10" had arrived at warp speed.

I raced out the door, met Matt in a parking lot on the way and practically threw Lillia out the car window to him, and made it to the outside of the delivery room door in time to hear my niece scream once and then...a baby cry.

And even though I didn't actually WATCH this little girl come into the world (my niece sees her lady part as more of a vag, and less of a big screen TV for all to view like the rest of us do), I can't get the image of a Russian nesting doll out of my head. You know, where you open one up and there's a smaller one inside, and then you open that one up and there's an even smaller one inside of it, and so on and so forth?

Megan did not make it there on time. I know she was heartbroken when she landed in Seattle and got that news. But I also know that her disappointment was outweighed by the joy and relief of knowing that, even though the little doll inside her daughter was very small, both mom and baby are doing beautifully.

Presly Elizabeth; 6:35 p.m. Sunday, August 30; 4 lbs. 5 oz.