Behold, a penis. On the wall.

My dear gay friend D finally got his act together and invited me over for wine and snackies. Which I happily accepted, as it gave me a chance to wear the boots I purchased during the early days of PPD that go with absolutely nothing I own, which means more shopping, natch.

D has a luvely home in Hollywood that he shares with his husband, the well-dressed and slightly hairy David.

And speaking of hair and David, I noticed as we were sipping Chardonnay (!!) that their home boasted more than one photo of a penis. I've been to a few gay men's homes and most of them had penis art in some form: sculptures, photos, paintings. I think someone had a penis paper weight, but I could be fantasizing.

"Why are you so obvious with the schlong?" I finally blurted out. "I think everyone knows your sexual preference before they come in and sit down."

"We love the schlong!" hairy David responded. "Why do straight guys have stickers on their cars of big busted women?"

"How dare you make such generalizations. Plus, only truck drivers have those," I said. "Seriously, how many penis items do you have on display?"

"Nine," D replied. He nodded. "I know, we need more."

D and David enjoy schlong. I like schlong too. Should I put up schlong photos, I wondered to J later that evening, who summarily nixed the idea. (I am paraphrasing for space purposes).

Or should we have photos of straight couples having intercourse, so people who come over, in case they weren't sure, would know we are straight?

So many decorating options...

Am I on the mend?

For the last two weeks, I have been waking up and feeling fine.

This is a big effing deal. A month ago, it took me about thirty minutes to find the will to wake up, get out of bed and function. The rest of the time I sat and stared, wept inexplicably, or purchased things online that I had no need for.

So I am still buying things online that I have no need for, but the terrible sensations are gone. My head has stopped buzzing and I am able to go outside and not feel like the sidewalk is going to devour me.

Am I cured of this horrible postpartum depression? I posed the question to the women in my weekly postpartum support group. I like these women, and feel genuinely sad for many of them. Most are first-time mothers who had no idea what was wrong following their baby's birth. They waited too long to get help. One of them can't even recall the first four months of her daughter's life, she was so depressed. Ouch.

The women thought about my question and looked at each other. They were puzzled, as I was. I am on medication, and will be for a couple of months, so I am probably not 100 percent in the clear. But I don't feel like crap any more.Maybe I am just in Postpartum Limbo, the little resting spot before you catch the train to Wellville.

What a horrible metaphor. Yikes! I am definitely not cured.

I need a better job description

Since I officially entered the realm of stay-at-home mom, I have been spending my free time (that would be the three minutes when I dry off after the shower) pondering the ridiculousness of the phrase stay-at-home mom.

Because I rarely stay at home. Hardly. I shower and sleep here, basically. I push the Snap N Go around the block. Sometimes twice. I drive Magnus to karate and music class. I drive to the grocery store. I take the babies to the pediatrician. I ferry all three kiddies to the park. Once a week I drive to my acupuncturist to have needles inserted into my flesh so I can have more energy to not be at home.

Who coined this ludicrous phrase? While driving with Magnus to the pharmacy (see? I am not at home again) I thought about an alternative descriptor. Working mom? But all moms work, whether in or outside the home. Full-time mom? That isnt accurate, either. Moms who go to the office are still moms for those eight hours.

So we don't have a correct job title for one of the most important and allegedly revered jobs on the planet. What the hells?

Sound off, faithful readers. (Or is it just one reader? If I was home and blogging more, I would know this).