Murray has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want us having anymore kids. He doesn’t outwardly dislike Emory. As a matter of fact, he and Emory have teamed up a few times to ransack the place. I don’t think he’s particularly upset with Emory on a personal level. I think he’s just really annoyed that he’s no longer the baby.
He hasn’t come out and said, “Hey, Michele and Toby, no more of these pale, bald things, OK?” He is way too passive aggressive for that sort of declaration. Instead, he’s letting me know in the most painful, and Murray-like way possible: by trying to shred my crotch.
Here’s my crotch.
I realize that’s not want you wanted to see when you stopped by here today. It’s not what I wanted to see today either, and it’s my crotch. But it plays the leading role in this particular story.
Lately, I have been doing a lot of yoga. It’s not that I necessarily want to do yoga. I do enjoy it very much. But I’m also (still) having a really difficult time right now. In fact, had there been a mental health facility within walking distance to my house yesterday, I would have had myself committed. Yesterday, was a very, very bad day. Today is better. That’s the problem with this postpartum stuff, it’s unpredictable. Not knowing how I’m going to feel from one day to the next has me feeling more uneven and nervous. It’s a vicious cycle.
Point is, I am still very much actively sorting out my postpartum situation. (But that’s a post for another day. This one is about Murray.)
Shall we? We shall.
I basically live in yoga pants. They’re comfortable, sure. But wearing yoga pants without actually practicing yoga is way too depressing, so I force myself to go as much as possible. I have about three pair of pants that I rotate through. Each pair of yoga pants have ties that wrap around the waist. But I don’t need the drawstrings because my belly, hips and ass do their job well. My pants defy gravity thanks to the effortless support I get from my ass. (Too bad my ass doesn’t specialize in postpartum support as well.) It probably doesn’t come as much of a surprise to anyone to read that I don’t usually tie the drawstrings since my pants pose zero threat of actually falling down. Plus, why tie them when I can prove to myself repeatedly of how thoughtless I am?
At least three times a week, Murray lunges at me with every bit of feline force – nails out, teeth exposed, eyes crazy – and tries to attack the dangling pant strings, which give way like dust to his paws. It’s like that scene in Edward Scissorhands, my crotch the small dog or block of ice, his paws are Edward’s hands. Only it’s a lot less visually stimulating and Winona Ryder is never present. (Bloody shame, too. I could use an extra pair of hands around the house when Toby’s at work.)
At the rate we’re going, I’ll be incapable of having kids by summer.
Hmmm, I guess I should count myself lucky. Our cat doesn’t attack drawstrings, he only attacks shoestrings. Specifically the shoestrings of my gym shoes. I take this as his way of telling me he doesn’t want me to leave him and go to the gym…and I dislike upsetting my cat, of course, so….
He’s a sweet cat. I don’t want folks to get the wrong idea of Murray. He just loves to play! It’s my fault, really, for teasing him with dangling string. I may as well tie cat food to the end of it while I’m at it!
Everyone dislikes upsetting their cats. ;] Of course.
Yikes! Junie is obsessed with my armpits and cleavage. She likes to burrow her head in there, particularly if I’m wearing a strappy top. And then she gives me love bites.
I can’t get over what a handsome young man your Murray has turned into.
Every now and again, I like to write posts that make the Internet REALLY uncomfortable. heh
I have done that today, I gather. I do apologize. Just telling it like it is.
Jen, they are so weird. But at least they don’t stick their faces in places they REALLY don’t belong like slobbery dogs do. :]
i submit to you that as a yoga teacher/studio owner, i live in yoga pants. it is distinctly unglamorous no matter how pricey and allegedly chic the (cough) “technical gear” is.
and fwiw? my 2 year old LOVES to pull the pants strings. and then she taunts me by squealing, “belly!”
My cat also does this. It never fails to catch me by (unpleasant) surprise. Walking along . . . hanging up laundry in the guest room . . . minding my own business . . . and WHAM – ambush. It’s usually a drive-by, though – she runs up, gives them a quick clawing, and then leaps away. Hoping I’ll chase her. Which I do. Because I am a pawn in the kitty cat world.
you said ambush
My cat’s more of a leg man.
I love Murray. I want one just like him for my own.
I also laughed at ambush. Out loud.
Murray is awesome.
Sorry that you are feeling so crappy, Michele. I follow your blog faithfully and am sending happy thoughts your way.
Ya’ll are pathetic.
Awwww, come on! Pathetic?
Catherine, thanks. The last two days have been better. :] I am hoping things last this time. We’ll see. (Also seeking some help finally.)
I read your blog from time to time…Emory is sooo cute! I have to say, as a doctor, it’s very concerning that you are still feeling this down. Lots of women get the “baby-blues” but at some point things should get better. Post-partum depression is a very complicated thing; it’s hard to even define. There are many factors – a huge hormonal/biological element; the emotional stress of adjusting to an entirely new way of life; and then the isolation of being a stay at home mom all day. Bottom line is, you shouldn’t be feeling this way 6 months later. There are tons of treatments out there…from counseling to medication (or both). You should see your doctor or tell you obgyn. You are not the first mom to feel this way. The point is that you don’t have to suffer.