New Year, New Milestones

The smallest light of my life (his mega-watt smiles could win over the stiffest of the stiff upper lipped) baby Azulito said his first word today according to his Daddy. 

What word you ask?


I was sceptical at first but have decided to roll with it. 

He is also moving – albeit incrementally and very slowly – as he has figured out how to crawl. He is still pretty wobbly and not getting very far before he face plants on the rug in exhaustion. Still. Movement is movement. 

Happy New Year, baby A!


I remember you

Little light, tiny boy, you were my first. You were supposed to be born in early August. You left us on New Year’s Day instead. I think about you often. As you know we have given our second living son your first name as his second. You are buried in a planter in our front yard. Remember when I dragged that heavy thing, weighing almost half as much as I do, from our old home to the one in which we now live? I remember you. And my love for you lives on always, not only on days like today dedicated to infant and pregnancy loss. 

Little spark, you were with us only briefly and some doctors said you didn’t count. But you did. I remember you. You were wanted. You too were loved.

Miracle Toddler, you broke the spell. Notwithstanding every complication my body threw in your way you triumphed. You have lived through the six losses that followed you. And the one who survived. Your little brother. You were my first miracle who lived. I will love you forever and in all ways. 

Tiny gift, you were welcomed with such hope. My heart broke with a newfound anguish when you disappeared. Too soon. Forever too soon. I remember you. 

Little bean, I was so excited to know you. I dreamed of holding you. I dreamed of you being my best holiday gift ever. But then you too were gone. Too soon. My heart died a little more with your passing. 

Oh, Mandy, then there was you. You were our holiday and special occasion baby. Conceived on vacation. We first saw your heart beating on my birthday. I watched you grow and knew you would be my beautiful baby girl. You were so brave. You fought hard. But it was not enough. I cried begging the doctor to let me see you one more time, fearing you too had slipped away. Knowing something was wrong. And something was. So dreadfully wrong. The Miracle Toddler cried with me as I mourned your passing. Time and time again. I am so sorry I lost you Mandy. I remember you. I always will. You will forever be the daughter I will never get to hold. 

Tiny button, you were our first IVF baby. Your time with us was brief but our love and longing for you deep and plentiful. I remember you.

Dearest whisp, you were with us for Valentine’s Day and the weeks that followed. And then you were gone. Just like that. I remember you. 

Wee Hope, you were my Mother’s Day baby. I traveled far, yearned long and worked hard for you. I did everything right. I thought it would be enough. How wrong I was. You taught us so much. You are missed. And I remember you. 

Little E, you landed in my womb alongside baby Azulito. Little Blue. He lived. You did not although you tried and for that I thank you and, little E, I remember you.

Baby Azulito, you are finally here. You beat every odd and overcame every obstacle my immune system erected in your path. I could not be more grateful. I will remember you in all ways and forever. 

Though my heart is heavy, my eyes burning and my cheeks stained as I write this, little loves of mine, I know I am fortunate and filled with gratitude for the two of you who fill my arms, day and night. I love each and every one of you. And I remember you even when and even if virtually everyone else has long forgotten most of you. 

October 15, 2015 is a day dedicated to pregnancy and infant loss remembrance and awareness where I live.  I typically have a hard time writing on days like this. My feelings are complicated and it is difficult not to feel guilty when I think of others still struggling and facing today and everyday with empty arms. Yet my lost loved ones deserve to be remembered. And so I write. To all of you reading this who are struggling with infertility and or  surviving pregnancy or infant loss please know my thoughts and compassion are with you. 

11:11 – A divine time to meet our spirit baby

At approximately 4:00 a.m. on Monday, June 8, 2015 I woke up panicking about completing everything on my to-do list on my last day at my job before maternity leave.  Now that day would be amputated by the LP’s emergency eye surgery so the panic felt even more immediate. Time to get moving. But first I had to pee. Off I trundled to start my day. 

From that moment on, nothing about June 8th went as planned. 

First I discovered that I was awash with blood. It looked watery. I rationalized. I hoped it was my mucus plug and that this would not spell danger for baby Azulito/a. Nevertheless, I ran to where the LP was sleeping. 

“I’m bleeding!” I proclaimed. 

A flurry of questions and answers followed. What does that mean? What do we do?  Should we go now?  What do we do with the MT?

I grabbed the Doppler.  Baby’s heartbeat was slower than usual but just at the low end of normal range (120). I checked again. Still bleeding but definitely mucous-filled and not as much as earlier. We made a plan. 

The LP got up to shower. I went to work and made copies of the things I needed to finish, left the originals behind, put notes on files for my assistant to address in my absence and headed home. 

My mouth felt as though I had swallowed a field of cotton. I desperately wanted a drink. My nausea was ramping up, too and I felt as though I might faint. The LP was showered and lying in bed with the MT. He suggested we wait half an hour so we could drop the MT off early at his dayhome. I checked the baby’s heart rate on my Doppler again. Still low. Harder to find. But still there. 

By this  time the blood had turned real. Bright red blood. A steady stream of it. This was no mucus plug. 

I was scared. 

I called our son’s dayhome operator and explained. I had clearly woken her up. She said we could come anytime. We left the house with the MT in tow, dropped him off and headed to the hospital for our fourth unplanned trip to labour and delivery for assessment. 

The LP was scheduled to be admitted for his retinal reattachmeny repair surgery at 9:00 a.m. At 8:35 a.m. the Resident who had assessed me and baby A said that she was going to call my OB to confirm whether we would be proceeding with the cesarean the following day as scheduled while monitoring my bleeding (which had not stopped but was slower and stable) and baby (who speared unshaded by any of the morning’s mayhem) or having the cesarean Monday afternoon. 

Off to eye surgery trundled the LP.  He would return and wait fit my surgery that afternoon or as originally planned on Tuesday afternoon. 

About an hour later the Resident came back and told me that my OB wanted us to proceed later that day.  I then met separately with the Anesthesiologist and the Resident Anesthesiologist.  The anesthesiologist decided that it would be prudent to give me hydrocortisone in my IV during and after the surgery given that I was only able to wean off of the prednisone about three weeks ago. He wanted to make sure that if my body could not produce enough its own court is all I was covered as well as using the hydrocortisone to reduce the likelihood of me having a severe drop in blood pressure because I typically do with anesthetics. 

The Resident came and asked me some more questions by which time it became clear to me that plans had changed. I naïvely asked what time I was expected to be heading over to the operating room (OR). 

His answer? 

In about 10 or 15 minutes.  It wasn’t even 10 a.m. yet. 

The LP was nowhere near to being released. I didn’t even know if he was in the OR himself. I must have looked stricken as the Resident asked if I was scared. I said no but my husband was not there. I explained what had happened. He took the LP’s name and which department he was in and called down to tell the folks in that area what was about to happen. 

Unfortunately, the message relayed to the LP as he lay in pre-op awaiting surgery was that I was having an emergency section imminently and that while he would be permitted in the recovery room he would not be allowed into the OR for delivery. This was not true. I was still scheduled to be using spinal anaesthetic unless something went wrong during the delivery. 

Upon entering the OR I began to cry. Not sobs. Not whimpering.  Simply, silently a steady stream of tears trickled out of each eye and down my cheeks. The doctors and nurses thought I was scared. The Resident Anesthesiologist explained I was sad that the baby’s father was not there because he was having emergency eye surgery. 

An OR nurse came over, held my hands, leaned her forehead into mine and just sat with me.  She stayed with me while the spinal was administered as well. She held my hand as my arms were outstretched beside me and strapped down. I am grateful for her kindness. It made such a difference. 
I did not know about the miscommunication to the LP until much later. Nor did the Resident Anesthesiologist. There was a delay after I was taken to the OR while we waited for matched blood products to arrive given my risk of placenta accreta. Every time the OR door opened I looked up hoping it was the LP.  It never was. 

Once it was clear that the LP was not going to be with me I tried my best to focus on what was about to happen. I would meet our baby face to face for the first time very soon. 

I won’t bore you with the weirdness that is having a cesarean section using a spinal other than to say it is a very strange sensation to feel strong pulling, pushing and pressure going on in your body without any pain or clear awareness of what is happening at each step of the process. Very strange. 

Finally my OB said my name and announced that we had one good looking baby. Loud clear cries ensued immediately. I felt myself inhale for what seemed like the first time in ages. 

“Thank you” I said. And the tears began anew. A steady, silent stream. 

My OB told the nurses that I wanted skin-to-skin contact with the baby. This is a new intiative where we live – skin-to-skin in the OR rather than only in recovery or on post-operative units though it’s been introduced elsewhere much earlier – and the nurse who was looking after our baby didn’t know what to do at first. Eventually she sorted it out and baby Azulito was on my chest as I was stitched (stapled) up. 

Our beautiful baby boy was born at 11:11 a.m. on June 8, 2015.  

I am in love, rivalled most conspicuously in my affections for this new little man by his older brother, the Miracle Toddler. Even the nurses who saw them together on that first evening after Azulito’s birth commented on how much the MT loves and wants to be part of caring for his baby brother. One said she had never seen a boy be so engaged and affectionate about a new baby. I generally believe that the MT is a pretty special kid but some days life mirrors back to me just how special. 

Last night the LP was holding Azulito. He looked up at me and mouthed the words “I love him”.  After all of the worry, after all of the fear, after the painful moments when – at sea with those worries and fears – the LP had questioned us doing this reproductive immunology cycle to have this child, had lamented the seemingly endless struggles and suffering to which he saw me as having been subjected, I needed those three words.  I need only notice the tears and snot streaming down my face as I write this to know how much I needed to hear those three words.  I believe that the LP and Azulito did, too. 

Azulito and I are still in hospital because the wee one has had typical pre-term troubles regulating his blood sugars. I wanted to exclusively breastfeed but if we want to get out of hospital this week and I want Azulito to be well (this goes without saying), it has now become apparent that I must supplement with formula after each time I nurse. Without that, his sugar levels are continually below the cut-off and on a few occasions have been quite low despite my nursing him every 2-3 hours. 

This has been upsetting and saddening but I am trying to keep myself together about it.  My hope is that in not too long my milk will come in (it takes longer with cesarean deliveries apparently), Azulito will mature a little more (he was born at 36w 5d so only slightly premature as term is 37 weeks) and things will progress normally from that point. 

The little dude is already trying to lift his own head, was a healthy length and weight and has a full head of one-inch long hair (!?!). Wicked recent heartburn explained or is that an “old wives’ tale”?

For safety and privacy reasons I do not wish to discuss on this blog I will not be posting pictures or the names of baby Azulito or the Miracle Toddler. If you have ever had personal contact with me or otherwise know me “in real life” please e-mail me either at or one of my personal emails if you know them. I will share more details and photos there if you promise not to blow my cover. As all good superheroes know, our secret identity is one of our most valuable assets. (Wink, wink and a nod to Disney for that thought from The Incredibles.)

From the deepest well of love and gratitude on my heart to each of you who have followed our journey, laughed with us, held my heart when it was aching and shared my joy when it flowed over, cried with us and cheered us on:  Thank you.  So much. 


It has been a while since I have updated, in part because nothing really eventful has been happening with this pregnancy – a blessing for which I am tremendously grateful – and because a great deal has been happening in the rest of my life.


My most recent ultrasound was almost two weeks ago at 25 weeks.  Baby was measuring on track and was estimated to be weighing in at 2 lbs 2 oz (give or take 5 oz).  For 25 weeks that sounded pretty good to me.  The technician spent considerable time trying to show me why it was not possible our baby has Spina Bifida. I wanted to tell him that I’ve moved on and did not welcome an opportunity to relive the stress that the positive screen for SB caused but I kept my mouth shut, mostly because I could see that he meant well and was trying to be reassuring.  He cross-examined me about why I was being monitored, however, compelling me to reconsider my compassion for his supposed good intentions. 


Why do technicians feel the need to grill me about my medical history and my understanding of why I am having extra ultrasounds when they have my chart and invariably say “yes, I read that” when I say we have had many pregnancy losses (8 in total and I hope that ends the count)?   This has happened to me four times during this pregnancy so far, all with different technicians (so it’s not just one sadistic creature doing this).  The second time I actually asked if the tech had read my chart.  She said yes, but she wanted to know what I understood.  Next time, I am not going to play this charade.  If you want to know why I am there, ask the referring physician and stop making me recount my medical history, my loss history, my immune issues and the issues with my placenta. It’s in the chart.  Read it, shut up and do your job.  


Funny, I did not realize how bitter I am about the cross-examination routine until I started describing it here.  At least now I know that it upsets me and I will be drawing a very clear, firm boundary should it happen again.  You hear that Universe?  Harumph!


Back to the medical update: The placenta is still located both in an anterior and posterior position which means the Placenta Previa diagnosis remains.  The tech thought maybe the placenta had moved but when he showed me where it was in relation to the cervix, it looked exactly the same to me and he was really guessing from reading my chart rather than comparing images from the prior scan to the one he was doing.  He also said that blood flow to the placenta does not change once it’s measured around 20 weeks (which is not true) so I am not putting much stock in his thoughts about the Previa issue when the OB reported it to remain an issue.


I am still on Prednisone but have weaned down to 7.5 mg and on Thursday I will drop down to 5 mg and next week Thursday to 2.5 mg.  I will be entirely Prednisone-free in two and a half weeks.  Yay!  I may have a sip of wine to celebrate!  I have three more Intralipid IV treatments and after that the only medication on which I will remain is Lovenox (enoxaparin sodium).  Yay!  I may have a second sip of wine after the Intralipid treatments are done.  You pregnancy purists, pretend you didn’t read that.  


As I hover over the threshold into the third trimester, I must confess that I am ready for this pregnancy to end.  Not soon – please do not let this baby come before 34 weeks, Universe, please – but when it ends (which won’t be after 37 weeks in any event).   This has been the single most stressful and exhausting period of my entire life (more stressful than trying to work, complete law school and visit/care for my dying mother; more stressful than articling while escaping a violent partner and rebuilding my life, more stressful and exhausting than the various traumas I experienced living abroad).  I read some of my blogging sisters’ musings about missing their babies being in their wombs or not wanting their pregnancies to end on one level and I feel both sad (because I think it evidences something I am clearly missing out on) and totally unable to relate.  


I do not want to come across as ungrateful.  Yeesh, writing that sentence alone made my eyes flood with tears.  I am more grateful than words could ever convey to have carried this baby as far as this and to hopefully be birthing this baby in the next couple of months.  I *love* feeling Azulito(a) kick and wriggle and perform Jujitsu inside of me.  That said, I would trade the in-my-tummy gymnastics for a healthy baby in my arms and an opportunity to get my body back, try to figure out my immune system and get it back onto some kind of healthy plane of existence again, and be on leave from work spending time with the Miracle Toddler and our new addition free from the current daily anxieties about everything that my crappy placenta and my zealous immune system could cause to go wrong with either baby or me, the aching hips and back and neck and shoulders and head, the daily blood pressure checks and injections, the crazy pregnancy dreams, the anxiety of being completely underproductive at work for reasons beyond my control, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  


As deeply grateful as I am, I have had enough of this roller coaster ride.  I will happily disembark when that time comes (which hopefully is not for at least 7 more weeks!).


In other news, the LP and I are in counseling (brought about in large part by the stress and other side effects that the last 2 years have caused). I am glad we are getting help.  I am not ready to blog about it here and may never choose to do that, but I am feeling good about this move and grateful that the LP is taking part voluntarily despite the fact that the issues we are examining dig to really deep, very challenging places in him.  I see this baby as having been and being a catalyst for tremendous change not only in me but in my marriage and in the LP.  The Miracle Toddler will also be facing great big changes soon and I hope he can find it within himself to still say “I love your baby, Mommy” then as he does now (though I will forgive him if from time to time that’s simply too much to ask of a toddler).  I suppose when I envisioned Azulito(a) communicating that s/he chose us because of something to do with “education”, I did not imagine the learning would be so profound this early.  At least I know I was not wrong in interpreting the message that way.  This most certainly has been an education.  And then some.  I have a feeling there is plenty of learning yet to unfold.


On that note, I want to thank each of you who read this blog for your support, interest, encouragement, love, kindness and – to those of you who share them, your words.  I will be forever grateful and hope that whatever I may bring to you is some compensation for the time and energy you have shared with me.  I wish you all the best, always.

When Things Go from Sad to Worse

* pregnancy and fear of pregnancy loss mentioned*

Yesterday afternoon I spoke with Dr. Braverman, my Reproductive Immunologist. The test results from my immune monitoring were back and had been analyzed. He emailed me my report and called me at the same time so I hadn’t even seen the report when, after the usual pleasantries he said “unfortunately, your levels [of inflammatory cytokines and chemokines] are back up”. In addition, my white blood count (WBC) dropped by over 40% despite my daily Neupogen injections. Not good.

I was blown away. Like a true fool, I somehow believed that since I had a “textbook perfect” response to the immune protocol during my last immune monitoring period, the same or similar would be true now. Of course I should have know better.

After all, I’d been having histamine reactions for days. But that has happened in the days leading up to each Intralipid treatment since we cut them back from weekly to biweekly after my embryo transfer. And I had emailed Dr. B about that very issue because this time it was much worse than ever before.

My original question in yesterday’s email to Dr. Braverman was whether I could stay on the immune meds until after what right now is intended to be the last monitoring panel of bloodwork is drawn, results are back and my next report prepared because I was fearful of a histamine response and the possibility that I lack certain chemicals that occur in people with healthy immune systems to counteract the histamines when they go wacky. That isn’t a test that’s currently available according to Dr. B’s website so naturally given my history of histamine reactions it causes me some worry. Histamine issues can result in second trimester losses. I don’t need or want to add that to my resume.

Little did I know things have already gone to hell in a hand basket with my immune system. The elevated levels (and reduced WBC?) could be the result of any of all of the following, according to Dr. Braverman:

1. I have antibodies to the LP’s sperm (we’ve never tested this – why the heck not? I wanted to ask yesterday but didn’t as I was in listening mode and, well, in shock).

2. I have Hy-restricting HLA genes for which no tests have yet been developed.

3. The natural lowering of hCG that occurs around 8 weeks removes the ameliorative effect hCG has on the immune system and consequently my immune system or suspected endometriosis (or both) took this opportunity to go wild.

4. My immune system has developed an adaptive response to the immune medications and is once again dead set on destroying yet another life or at least messing with pregnancy #10.

In case it isn’t obvious (and I can see how it wouldn’t be, this stuff is not a walk in the park to understand, I know) all of these options suck.

My protocol has therefore been changed as follows:

A. Increase Neupogen from 1 mcg/kg to 1.5 mcg/kg. In other words, a 50% increase.

B. Increase Prednisone from 20 mg per day to 40 mg per day, taken in 20 mg doses in the morning and evening (a 100% increase).

I started the increased levels last night. I also had another Intralipid infusion last night.

In case you missed my saying so yesterday, it been a very long and rough week and a bit. Yesterday’s report and call have scared the pants off of me. I am astonished at how quickly things can go from textbook perfect to atrocious and ominous.

On the upside, Dr. Braverman tried to reassure me that the risk of us losing this baby has gone down after week 8 (I’m almost 10.5 weeks now) is reduced considerably in my case. There are no guarantees, of course. But he said his biggest objective in aggressively treating these changes now is to help me avoid serious complications later in pregnancy. I meant to circle back to that part of our conversation later in the call but I forgot. He told me that after reading the report he knew I would have more questions and invited me to email in response to which he would either email or call me at my preference. I have more questions, including this one, but I am going to sit with this for a few more days and gather my thoughts and reassure myself that my feet are still firmly planted on the ground.

If there is one overarching thing I have come to appreciate on this journey and my foray into reproductive immunology, it is this. Comprehensive testing and monitoring during pregnancy matters. In my case, it matters a great deal. For those of you who may not share my views or always appreciate my pushy encouragements to you, please understand that *this is my context*. This is the place from which I write. It is a place where the unexpected can come to pass very swiftly and without much warning. This place is one without certainty or security in which playing ostrich has meant certain death and almost certainly would again.

From this place, I look forward and hope, pray, plead with the powers that be to let Azulito/a live. Please, little spirit baby, please keep chugging along on your long journey home. In the big picture, you are almost there. Please stay. We love you so.

Busy Azulito

Azulito, the little embryo that could, has been growing like mad recently. More on that in a moment.

On Monday this week I had blood drawn (9 vials!) at Dr. Braverman’s Long Island office for my second immune panel analysis. Reprosource will get my blood on Tuesday, November 25, 2014. In about two weeks I should get a full report and analysis about these results as compared to my initial results in July and my results at 4 weeks into this pregnancy (really 2 weeks because those first two weeks were the FET lead-up to transfer).

I am hoping that everything continues to remain stable and in particular that my angry cytokines (particularly but not only my Natural Killer cell activity) continue to accept the rainbow of medications and play nicely with others. I also hope there is no hint of an adaptive response by my immune system, meaning I do not want it trying to do an end-run around the cocktail of medications and attacking poor Azulito as has happened so many times before in my unmedicated pregnancies.

A visit to Dr. Braverman’s office is not complete absent a date with the dildo-cam. Monday’s ultrasound showed a wiggly Azulito measuring 24.4 mm or 9 weeks 1 day. That’s four days ahead based on my transfer date. Baby’s little heart sounded amazing – and amazingly fast – as it galloped along at 182 bpm. The blood flow within my uterus is showing “10 out of 10” according to Dr. Braverman, which is important for placenta formation and a very good sign.

In other news, I have been wondering whether Azulito might be an Azulita. The LP does not want to find out baby’s sex before birth. He is pretty steadfast about this but said I can find out and not tell him. How would that work? Not at all in my case. I have a friend who did this as her husband wanted the surprise as well. But she has a better poker face than I do. And a less slippery tongue I bet. I would never make it through two more trimesters keeping that intimate information under my belt.

So where does that leave me? Disregarding the LP’s wishes – even if by inadvertence – or disregarding my own wish to know this baby’s gender. I have had to ask myself why I want to know.

At first it was because I was so flooded with fear and anxiety and I wanted to know as much as I could do I might better be able to bond with this baby. But I was madly in love with the Miracle Toddler long before he arrived on scene and announced he was not a girl as almost everyone predicted but a wonderful little boy. Clearly I can bond with gender being a mystery. Or an unconfirmed hunch.

There are practical reasons of course. In fact practicality is what has prompted me to muse over this. We are considering doing the MaterniT21-PLUS non-invasive prenatal testing and unless you forbid it the lab reports the baby’s sex with the chromosomal results.

As for other practical matters, in support of finding out is whether we will get to reuse all of the boy things from the Miracle Toddler? Or can I accept others’ eagerness to buy girly things for the new bean? If I am being honest, I am not really fussed about that personally. I know others will have strong views to the contrary but this is our hard-won baby and I don’t feel the need to please others in our decision-making about the pregnancy. Not that I am inclined to that sort of thing anyway.

I don’t have any other really good reasons beyond curiosity. Am I missing something? Do any of you have strong feelings about why you would want to or have either found out or waited for the ultimate surprise?

An Unexpected Moment of Hope

Yesterday the LP had to go to the office and work. The Miracle Toddler and I dropped him off and – many hours later – picked him up.

Earlier in the day I had been thinking about a restaurant that the LP and I frequented when I was pregnant with the MT. The restaurant is iconic, a local landmark that is family-owned and has been through four generations (3 of which you will still find working there). We had already made plans for what we would cook last night but when the LP got in my vehicle at the end of the day he said “guess where I have been thinking about us going for dinner tonight”.

I failed the first three guesses. Then he gave me a hint. I exclaimed how serendipitous that was as I had been thinking of the same place earlier in the day and reminiscing about going there while carrying the MT. Off we went.

It was over dinner that something even more surprising happened. The magnitude of it did not fully sink in until this morning. Now, I cannot believe it even happened. The LP let his guard down and started suggesting baby names for Azulito. At first, I was uncomfortable and did not want to play that game. The flood of negative thoughts and fear rushed in.

It is too early. We could jinx this. We never did this seriously until the third trimester with the MT. This will only make it hurt more later if things go sideways.

The LP persisted and eventually I could not resist. Perhaps it was his effort to suggest the most boring names on the planet that he knew I would not like. Perhaps it was the innocence he conveyed – something that has been sorely absent from our lives and any discussions about babies and making them for a very long time – but at some point I began playing along. I admitted my favourite girl name and said “what if it’s a boy?” (The LP believes this baby is a girl. Of course he steadfastly believed the MT was a girl, too.)

Looking back on that conversation, I recognize it for the gift it was. Thank you, LP. Thank you for having hope. Thank you for believing that this may work out enough to let your heart head down the name game path. Thank you for forgetting to worry and self-censor.

And thank you, Azulito (or Azulita) for giving us this opportunity to dream of one more chance. Thank you for your beating heart. Thank you for surviving the treachery of my immune system (thank you, immune system, for playing nice on all of those drugs I am feeding you). Thank you for sticking with me all this time. Thank you for being with me now.

Come home this time, little blue. Please. We love you so.