Hybrid Mom: work, kids, love ... and self-loathing

In the waiting room of my OB/Gyn's office, you have the choice between two piles of tattered magazines:  Working Mother or Martha Stewart Living.

I guess the message is if you're involved in babies emerging from your body, you fall into one mother camp or another.  You either have a briefcase and a breast pump, or jelly-stained jeans and a passion for decoupage.  Either read about flattering suits that travel well or how to transport 75 cupcakes while preserving their perfectly piped icing. 

It's enough to make a girl reach for the chlamydia brochure. 

Because many of us mothers don't know where we fit in - we're double agents.  Thanks to the wonderful world of telecommuting, many mothers can now call themselves Hybrid Moms (a term so handy that it serves as the name of a new magazine).  Hybrid mothers both work and care for their children during some part of the traditional work day. 

How does one become a hybrid mom, or part-time worker and active daytime parent?  Much like romantic love, it's rare to find it when you're actually looking for it.  Sure, you can request to cut back the hours of an already-held position, or seek out a part-time work situation in your skill set.   But I know of many full-time workers that have attempted to negotiate reduced hours or a flexible schedule, and were met with an all-or-nothing choice by their employers.  I also know of women who began positions advertised as part-time and flexible, but after starting the positions it was clear that a 40 hour week (minus full time benefits) was actually expected. 

When mothers DO find a great part-time or flex-time position, they hold onto it like it's the freaking Holy Grail. 

I myself jumped off the career train after my first was born.  And stayed off for three years while we had another kid.  It was hard and great and wild and weird and wonderful.  It was my first manual labor job, and the best one I'll ever have.   Staying at home caring for the kids without outside help while my husband works is a truly a great blessing.

And like a good middle class American woman, I would now like to whine about my blessings.

(This is where I should stick in the text that as a feminist I believe it is every woman's right to choose the work situation that works best for her family, financial security, beliefs, personal happiness, blahblahblah.)

And while my childen are still my numero uno time- and heart-priority during the rhythm of my day, a couple years ago I admitted that I missed working, specifically the writing.  So I attemped to jump back on the train.  But I wanted to go it hobo-style, jumping on and off those boxcars on my terms.