Chuck knows what a magazine whore I am, so he’s constantly stealing magazines from doctor’s offices and magazine racks for me. Last week, after his follow-up ass inspection, he pilfered a magazine called Hybrid Mom. It’s from Fall 2008 but these mommy rags should be timeless, right?
Before I even started reading the articles I had to know what exactly a “Hybrid Mom” was. I wanted to get rid of the mental picture I had of a mom that ran on gas and electric and who resembled the Terminator.
Thankfully the founder, Stacey Smith, explains that a Hybrid Mombot is “a woman who is guided by an entrepreneurial yearning because she knows that being the type of mom she wants demands it.”
Yawn. Butt scratch.
Smith continues, “[Hybrid Mom] works. She plays. She lives. She decides.”
Oh gawd. What a crock of sappy, over hyped shit. Is this an ad for Nike? I’m now going to live in fear that the whole “She works. She plays” bullshit is going to end up on a t-shirt, the shade of which will probably be some custom-blended color the Hybrid Mom people will call—oh heck—“Hybrid Mom Blue.” Can’t you just see it? A short-sleeve v-neck for $49.95, described as “emboldened” and “no-nonsense.”
(If you think $49.95 is expensive then I don’t think you’re a Hybrid Mom, because Hybrid Moms decorate their Hybrid Offices with Davenport desks that cost $2,399.)
More clues you are/are not a Hybrid Mom? Well, if you’re a just-gave-birth Hybrid Mom and you’re having your first Girls’ Night Out, when someone says she's thirsty “you whip out your boob.” (Ah yes, you’ve been so enmeshed in breastfeeding that you can no longer discern between the thirsty cravings of your baby and those of your 35-year-old female friends.)
You also can’t put down your cell phone “in case the nanny/babysitter/clueless husband calls.” Poor husbands. Seriously. Must they always be portrayed as clods?
Finally—I won’t give you a page-by-page rundown of the whole magazine, I swear—there’s an article, “Don’t call me...” The woman under the headline is holding a nametag that reads “mom” so I am assuming we are to fill in the blank.
To quickly synop, the author is annoyed that the male physician’s assistant in the ER asked, “So what happened, mom?” when she brought her kid in for staples. In her own words: “I did not warrant a name—Mom was good enough.”
Oh, Christ. Lady, you were in an ER with your child, and the man probably thought he was being cute. Men often think they are being cute when they’re not; it’s why they sometimes have trouble getting laid.
On the very next page, the author finishes with this: “For me, the name mom is reserved for those to whom I gave life. It’s a powerful name that should be treated with respect. Every once in awhile my husband will look at me in awe and ask, ‘How do you do it all?’ and with a flick of my red cape I reply simply, ‘I’m mommy.’ ”
Few things. 1) Dressing like a Superhero isn’t going to help you command the respect you so crave. 2) If the name mom is reserved only for those to whom you gave life, shouldn’t you have answered your husband’s questions with, “I’m Nancy”? 3) If the name mom is a powerful one, why were you so pissed off the man in the ER called you by it?
I have no time for such blatant inconsistencies. Where the hell was this woman’s editor?
Hybrid Mom, you are going into the recycling bin. I’m done with periodicals that try to sell me a new and improved version of motherhood. Can’t we all just get over ourselves? Please, take your Davenport desks and your overzealous, perpetually eager lactationers and beat it.
(Just curious, would you be incensed if the male physician’s assistant in the ER called you mom instead of by your name?)
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.