I'd better write this out because no one is gonna write it for me:

Monday at CHOP in Voorhees. I spend enough time with the GI/Nutritionist doctor for her to use "precipitous" twice:

"So, your labor and delivery was precipitous?"

"Yeah, it was a real avalanche!"

"Her slowing weight gain was precipitous?"

"No, her slow weight gain was steady, but it was noticed suddenly."

She orders blood work that's drawn immediately. Selecting the tests from a list with as much apparent concern as a supermodel chooses lunch a la carte, "I'd like to see her electrolytes, her zinc, well, a complete workup." On the other end, the phlebotomist draws vial after vial and switches arms towards the end.

My phone rings with Jeff's tone, a nice bit of traditional Indian dance music, but I can't take the call because I am one of three people holding Ella still. A nurse quips on Jeff's behalf, "But you said you'd be done a second ago!" (Had to be there.) And I'm like, "Wish you were here, honey."

I'm sure the blood work results are available but she hasn't called me with any information.

So, weekly weigh-ins, more rest and fluids for Mom and a consult with a lactation specialist. She's coming tonight if she doesn't get drowned in Shore traffic.