The following entry is a best-of from the archives of The Big Yellow House.

I come from a long line of crazy women. Not crazy in an eccentric sort of way. No, I mean crazy in the should-be-strapped-down-to-a-table-and-have-electroshock-therapy kind of way.

Today I joined the illustrious women in my family.

I was at my OBGYN appointment and the doctor asked me how I was, how the post partum depression was. I answered that I was fine. And just to illustrate how fine I was, I burst into tears. I am fine. But I'm not fine.

I'm not angry and crying anymore. I don't walk through the house slamming things down on tables and randomly yelling at innocent people, though that is more a testament to my self control than a lack of desire to do so.

If you were to see me out grocery shopping, I would seem surprisingly normal. I wouldn't yell or make a scene, even if you cut me off with your cart and grabbed the last package of hamburger buns. I might even smile and make a joke about it. But inside I'd want to tear your face off and then stomp on it for good measure.

But I've been told recently that this isn't normal? People always comment to me that I am so "calm" and "peaceful" and "patient" and they want to know my secret. I never know what to say because those words do not describe how I feel. At least not lately.

I don't know how to describe how I feel now, other than a resigned sadness. It's like a aura that hovers in the air around me, almost palpable at times.

The doctor asked me if I had friends that I talked to. She seemed a bit worried when I asked, "Do you mean in real life?" and clarified, "Well Chris, I don't mean imaginary friends."

That made me laugh because I never thought of the people I know via the internet as imaginary per se. But from now on I will, because it makes me seem even crazier. Also, I discovered that hysterically laughing and crying simultaneously at the doctor's office, will make her rip out that script pad faster than the speed of light.

Well that and when she asked me about hobbies and what I like to do in my free time, I didn't want to mention my imaginary friends again or even mention the internet. Because as we all know, nothing screams crazy like "plays on the internet". So I said shopping.

Which would have been a fine answer, I think, except that she asked shopping for what? And I blurted out, "Groceries!" Good God almighty why would I say that.

It's a good thing I didn't mention the internet, because that would have seemed crazy.

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After we talked medication,the doctor went to her vast supply closet and pulled out four boxes, four weeks worth of pills. She carried them back into the room and shook one in front of my baby son.

"It's like a little rattle!" she said as she shook it in front of him and tried to hand it to him.

"It's like a little rattle for the babies with crazy mothers" I blurted out, just in case there was any lingering doubt in her mind that I needed those drugs.

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about what a fabulous idea that would be. Imagine walking through the store and your baby is holding onto his favorite Prozac rattle. Suddenly you come across a cart where he spots a baby just like him shaking a Zoloft rattle. They could exchange knowing glances and smiles.

It would be like a baby secret handshake for, "My mom is nuts, too!"

I think the pharmaceutical companies should take note. There is a vast untapped market out there.

Read more by the lovely Chris at Notes From The Trenches of Motherhood.