Yesterday, I got take out Thai and went over to Amy's to have dinner and spend the evening with her and her 3.5-week-old daughter Emmy. Which sounds very simple, I know.

But nothing ever seems to work that easily for me. It took me a full hour to get from my work to Amy's--something that shouldn't have taken more than 15-20 minutes. The problem was that there really aren't a whole lot of take out restaurants between my work and her home, so I volunteered to pick up "whatever," which turned out to be a choice between Subway and Thai.

I deemed the Thai to be tastier and also closer, but I still had to take the metro (subway) and then a tram. Which made a simple gesture of picking up dinner into a full on ordeal.

The opening sentence two paragraphs above this nearly read, "But nothing ever seems to work that easily in Prague," but I imagine that, for many people, things are that easy here in Prague. But even though Prague is a relatively small city with great public transportation, I find that I spend far too much time getting from place to place. It can be good exercise and a great way to keep up on my myriad podcasts, but it's also a huge social deterrence--often I have to ask myself if I would rather spend 45 minutes traveling to another part of the city (and an hour coming back, because public transit isn't as available later into the evening) to meet friends or stay in? As the weather gets shitty, I'll be staying in. And so will Caroline, as I already noted about her winter hibernation schedule.

Maybe having a boyfriend will keep me social this season. We shall see.

Anyway, after an hour rushing about the city, a delightful evening was had. Here's Amy and her daughter Emmy:

Yesterday, I received the sweetest email from my friend Amy, regarding her daughter Emmy. Here's a snippet:

I will put her in her apple dress when you come and you can take a million photos of her. I feel like wall papering the walls with her picture, I could look at her all day. I have wanted children since I was 17 and when I was 30 and unmarried I thought I never would. I'm so happy with her even when she cries like a manic!

I'm so happy for her; that is wonderful.

I'm a bit under the weather at the moment with either a cold or a sinus infection. If it persists for a few more days, I'll assume it's the latter and possibly go to the doctor to get an antibiotic. But if it's just a cold, I'm sure it'll resolve itself. I'm already on Phase 2, which is the addition of a stuffy nose to Phase 1's sore throat.

I'm going to Vienna this weekend, despite the illness. I'm heading out early tomorrow and will come back Monday night, because I have a three-day weekend. I'll be staying with Chris, who is taking off work on Monday, because he's accepted a new job offer and has six vacation days to kill before the end of October. He's asked me to take off a week with him some time in October to travel between Austria and the Czech Republic, visiting his parents for a couple of days, among other things. I'll see how this weekend goes before I commit so much of my vacation time, though.

Over the past several weeks, I have been watching my husband develop a severe case of baby fever. I'm not sure when he developed the first symptoms, but I remember that at last Thanksgiving, he spoke openly about how he's not sure if he wants children because having children is a life-altering decision that can't be undone. Once we have kids, our lives are changed forever and, as he sees it, our lives are pretty good, so why mess with that?

But that was before he saw the cutest little Jewish boy while riding CalTrain earlier this summer. I think the boy was about three years old, and Leon watched him attempt to lift a backpack off the handles of his little sister's stroller. When he was unsuccesful, his father helped him, and the boy reacted with a big, grateful smile. Then Leon listened as the boy used Hebrew words with his father, and I think Leon's heart grew three sizes so that all he could talk about that evening was this little boy and how adorable he was.

Last Saturday, I picked up Leon at the Oakland airport and took him to In N Out Burger. While we were waiting for our order to be filled, two little eight-year-old girls in summer dresses sat at the table beside us. The plumper of the two immediately sized us up and began making conversation. With every question she asked, her friend grew more and more embarrassed and tried to shush her, but the plump girl would have none of it.

When we got our order, Leon gave them each a fry and, after eating hers, the plump girl turned to me and asked, "Is he your friend?" Leon choked a little on his cheeseburger as he tried not to laugh.

"No," I said. "He's my husband." And she nodded at this--pleased, perhaps, that a round woman could land such a hottie as Leon.

Finally the two girls left when their order was ready, and the girl waved and yelled goodbye to us from across the restaurant.

"Little kids can be so cute," Leon said. I nodded, and he smiled so big that I knew what was in his mind.

"Not yet," I said. "You have to wait."

"I know," he said. "Right now you want to travel the world."

"Yes," I said, and I started to think of Brussels and Bonn and Prague and how there is a world to see before I can have children. It could be a long wait.

My nephew Harrison turned one yesterday, and, as some sort of lame tribute, I wish that I could explain just how much I love that little guy (and his sister, but this is his time).

I worry about both of them and fawn over both of them and adore both of them to pieces. But I feel something for him that I don't feel as much about Mattie, probably because she is older and therefore not as helpless.

But Harrison? I wish I could scoop him into my arms and protect him from the world. I'm not worried about Mattie like this, because I think she can already assert herself pretty damn well for a two-year-old. But Harrison--with his fat little thighs and concerned expressions--just makes me feel sad from all the worrying.

Earlier this month, my mom sent me some pictures of the kids, and I smiled as I looked through one. But there was one picture of Harrison that made me feel sick inside. He was wearing this pastel blue romper with a frog on it--a softer-than-soft outfit that I had given him when I visited last July. But the paleness of his clothes only helped to accentuate all of the red sores on his body.

Harrison has eczema, a condition that I know practically nothing about. I don't even know if it's especially painful or if it will ever go away completely, but I can tell you that nothing makes an infant look even more helpless than red blotches all over his skin. I just want to snatch him up and save him from the world, I tell you.

And when I was at my grandparents' house a day or two after Christmas, Harrison slipped off of Mattie's toddler bed and hit his head on the bed frame. He ended up with a bruise and a small cut and after her initial concern, my grandma kept saying, "These kids use their heads like battling rams" to insist that he was just fine. And he was. But I was so concerned and wanted everyone to promise that the entire house would be covered in bubble wrap the next time I visited.

But he's not my kid and even if he were, kids are bound to get bumps and bruises and rashes like eczema. But I want to protect him, and watching him grow up will be hard for a long time before it gets easy.

On Monday, my mom e-mailed me about finding "guardianship info" for my sister Sara's kids, Mattie and Harrison. Over the holidays, she had discussed becoming their legal guardian and she is now looking into the paperwork necessary to make this change.

This won't be any kind of custody battle and it won't change Mattie and Harrison's day-to-day lives. What it does is create more security for the children when my sister and her husband aren't exactly in their right minds. Without going into too much detail, there have been situations where Sara and her husband Jeremiah have argued and Sara has snatched up the kids from their primary caregivers (my grandparents) and taken them on what can only be described as scary, scream-filled car rides.

And all I will really say about those situations is that Sara does not intend any harm to her children, just as most people make irrational and regrettable decisions when they are upset. But if the wellbeing of others is involved, then it's a problem. And it's not just the children's wellbeing that is in jeopardy but also that of my parents and grandparents (my grandma was hysterical when this happened on Christmas day).

So if Sara and Jeremiah no longer have custody of the children, this cannot legally continue. And to show how rational and well-meaning my sister is, she is in favor of this change. She doesn't want any harm to come to her children, and protecting them from her and her husband's less favorable selves is one way that she will keep them safer.

She is still "mommy" and Jeremiah is "daddy," even if these terms have different connotations for Mattie and Harrison than they do for other children.

Harrison and Mattie:

Amy called over the weekend to ask what hotel we're staying in for the wedding, so that she could book a room. I have absolutely no idea what hotel we're using. I understand completely why she'd want to book now, but I haven't thought that far ahead. Oh, stress.

Lacey called twice over the weekend and left messages, and I haven't called her back yet. I know that she's going through a tough time and needs to talk to me. I am such a shitty, shitty friend.

Leon and I played miniature golf this weekend--two rounds of 18 holes. I beat him both times; I think that's unheard of.

There was a birthday party at the mini golf course, and at this party were at least 20 kids under the age of 8. There was also practically no adult supervision, and these kids were climbing on the windmill and other parts of the course. They were scampering all over the greens as Leon and I were trying to putt, and they were playing in the fountains and streams. Leon and I were convinced that a kid was going to drown. We were also convinced (ok, I was) that the parents of these children were absolute dicks. I'm no child hater, but seriously, people, corale your damn kids.

Leon bought me a 40 GB ipod. I've wanted one for months now, but I feel so guilty. I almost hyperventilated in the store when he purchased it, because I thought that, no matter how much I love it, it will never be enough to justify him spending so much on me.

I'm having lunch with Lindsay today, which makes me nervous in the way that spending one-on-one time with people I don't know very well makes me nervous. I'm afraid that I'll say something stupid and that one stupid thing will outshine everything else in our conversation. Or that I'll just be really awkward because I am really awkward.

I'm filled with stress and guilt and nervous energy, but otherwise I'm good. How could I have just played putt-putt and not still feel some of that happiness? But otherwise it's Monday, and the consequences of two restful days are obvious.

Okay, one more baby.

Flip through Hayley's album, and she seems to be dancing. She's even making expressions like she's really into it.

Okay, I'm pathetic.

Oh my.

My dad e-mailed me and asked me to send him the link to a web site with Jessica's baby's pictures. Jessica is one of my friends from high school who also worked with my dad at his second job. So, naturally, he was curious and wanted to see the baby, since he wasn't able to access the site on his own.

After e-mailing him, I started looking through the other babies, and I tried to decide if I only think that my sister's baby is cute because she looks like our family. While doing this, I came upon Christopher.

I swear, this baby looks like a rap artist. If you flip through his photos, it looks like a music video. Go on and see Eminem's newest rival.

(That was a lot of explanation just for me to say, "Look at this baby!")

Earlier this week, I mailed three "thinking of you" cards to my hometown. In each, I inserted a picture from Sara's baby shower.

To my mom, I mailed a picture of her and my grandmother laughing. I loved this picture, because both my mom and grandma seem to hate having their pictures taken. So, to actually capture them both smiling and not looking annoyed is quite a treasure. Besides, not enough pictures are genuine happiness, even if one is exceptionally talented at faking a smile.

To my sister Sara, I mailed a picture of her and her friend Jennifer. Again, Sara looked extremely amused. She was about to laugh, and I caught her just a second before she did. It was another cute picture.

To my grandma, I mailed a picture of her holding Jennifer's baby, who was being given a bottle by the three-year-old daughter of one of the women throwing the shower. My grandma was genuinely smiling, and the entire image was adorable. I'm just one awesome photographer.

To also be helpful, I wrote the date and the event on the back of the pictures as well as who was being photographed. This was mainly important in the case of the last picture, because I didn't know if my grandma would remember who the two children were. I wanted to be helpful.

But I could not remember the name of Jennifer's baby. I sat and thought and thought and thought. The name "Jack" kept coming to me and sounded so right when paired with the last name. So I wrote it down, finally. That baby had to be named Jack.

Friday, while in Sara's hospital room with baby Matteson, Leon, my parents, and my grandparents, someone commented that Matteson was not yet at the "fun" age.

"You mean, like Jack?" Sara said, referring to the one-year-old baby who was a hundred times more playful.

Extremely curious, I immediately turned to her. "Is that his name? I thought forever about what his name was."

"No," she laughed. "It's Danny."

I was so embarrassed. "Well, then, who the hell is Jack?" I asked.

"No clue, but I thought you had him confused with 'Just Jack!'" And then she put her hands around her face and imitated the character from Will and Grace.

Everyone had a good laugh at my expense. Of course, nobody dropped it.

Plus, I had to endure a visit from Jennifer, her husband, and "Jack." So, everyone jabbed me and said, "Look, Kate. It's Jack. Come here, Jack. Say 'hi' to Kate, Jack."

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Christ.

I told everyone that I wasn't amused, that I was embarrassed, and that I didn't enjoy being the joke of the weekend. They told me that they were just funning me.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

I admit that I could have had a better sense of humor about the situation, but I couldn't help but think that it was so fucking rude. I said that it bothered me, and even my mom wouldn't shut up about it.

This is what happens when I try to do something nice. I had gone to the trouble to make copies of the photographs that I liked, sent away for them, picked out cards for my family, written the letters, and mailed them. And all they remember is that I mis-fucking-labelled one of the pictures. Aren't they nice?

The last time that they brought it up, because "Jack" apparently made a second trip to visit Sara in the hospital, I said, "Shut up. I don't think it's funny. If you say it one more time, I'm leaving." And they shut up. Thank God.

I guess I'll employ idle threats next time. Of course, I have no immediate intentions of being so kind again.

I missed seeing my sister in labor.

Around 9 PM on Thursday, my mom let me know that she and Sara were going to the hospital, but there was no guarantee that she would be admitted.

Around 10:30 PM, I received a call that let me know that Sara was being watched, but it was still uncertain as to whether or not she would be released after a couple of hours. I was told to wait in St. Louis and drive in on Friday; and Sara would still be in labor. It is her first baby, after all.

Then, at 3:51 AM on Friday, the baby was born. My dad called me around 4:30 to let me know. I was happy for my sister but disappointed that I hadn't driven the two and a half hours home in time to catch the big moment. I had still been awake, after all.

But I probably would not have been able to handle what occurred in the delivery room. Put simply, the baby's heart rate dropped from 120 beats per minute to 60 or 70, and everyone was afraid that she wouldn't make it out. So they inserted a device into her head, and it monitored her heart rate until she came out. There was such urgency for her to be delivered that they actually suctioned her out. My sister pushed about three times, and she was out.

There wasn't even time for her to receive an epidural.

So, after a somewhat short and briefly scary labor, a beautiful baby girl was born. She weighed slightly less than 6 pounds and 5 ounces. Her name is Matteson Rache, two family names that I'm learning to appreciate. She'll go by Mattie, which is infinitely better than what my sister's boyfriend suggested:

He wanted to name the baby after his ex-wife.

Duh.

Anyway, I hope to share a few pictures of the baby, but right now, I'm amazingly tired and will probably read myself to sleep. What a dreary Sunday to follow such an important weekend.

There are several updates that I wish to be making, but I think this one trumps them all.

My sister is in labor.

I'm planning to drive home tomorrow morning, when I suppose that she'll still be in labor. (If not, I miss the drama and can skip ahead to the climax of this adventure.) I was extremely excited earlier when I heard the news. Now I'm damn tired and drunk. I'll sleep that off so that I can squeal over my new niece.

When I return to St. Louis, I expect to be welcomed as Aunt Kate. I'm sure at least Leon will humor me.

My sister Sara is due to have a baby in one week. I cannot believe that she is going to be a mother. She seems too young; she's 23. I cannot believe that someone will be calling me aunt.

I hope the baby is healthy and will one day look forward to weekends at Aunt Kate's house. But, naturally, I'd compromise the latter if it could ensure the former.

And I wish I could be there to take a million pictures, but I have school. I'll have to wait a few days, a week, or more before I can make it home.

And Sara and I haven't spoken since we argued a few weeks ago. This should all be very interesting.

Wow. I just realized that it's been forever and a day since I wrote an entry. Not a good reason why--just haven't felt the need to be on the computer all that much. Plus, I've been getting massive amounts of sleep in the past few days. I think I got close to 14 hours of sleep last night. I can't really explain it, but there you go.

In those 14 hours, I had a dream that I had a baby--not a giving birth dream but a motherly dream. My child was so small and cute. And it made me realize that I really want to have a baby. Which is really dumb. I feel like those teeny boppers that go on the Ricki Lake show saying, "I want to have a baby!" and the audience attacks them saying, "No, you just need to play with your dolls!"

I'm twenty. I'm too young and too irresponsible to have a child right now. Not to mention, I'm very financially unstable, considering that I'm just a lowly student right now. No, I can't realistically wish for a child right now. But I kind of am.

Of course, maybe I'm just preparing myself for the possibility. My period is nearly a month late. Two pregnancy tests tell me that my math must surely be wrong--I couldn't POSSIBLY be a month late--I'm not pregnant. And yet there's no period. I'm very confused.

And disappointed. According to Leon's Life Plan (tm), there will be no children in my future for another six years, minimum. Oy.