6 weird things about me

(My friend Charis tagged me with this in November! I am so slow! It took me 3 months to finish this post. Crazy! But I'm happy to tag Chrys, Amy, Beverly & Amanda.
I'm not tagging Allison because they just bought a new house--more on that soon, I hope.)

1. My ears are not pierced. Never have been. For that matter, except for my Aggie ring and my wedding ring, and a watch if you count it, I almost never wear jewelry. Pretty weird for my family, anyway! I've known I wouldn't wear diamonds since I was in high school and found out where they came from.

2. The name I go by is not weird, but my spelling is. I changed that when I was in junior high, I think, pointing out to my mother that my middle name--Angilyn--doesn't have an "e" in it. The end result of having a different spelling is that people seem to remember, "She spells it weird," but they don't remember how to spell it. Also, it's a little weird that I go by part of my middle name, but it's the only thing I've ever been called. I answer to my first name only if I am expecting to hear it, like from a doctor's office. I like my middle name; I've never met another Angilyn, but it was the name of the wife of the preacher who married my parents. And I like being called Angela about as much as I liked it when a college roommate called me "Roommate" all the time.

3. I guess one of the things that makes me weird is the extent to which I'm a pack rat. Last night on Primetime Live, a reporter interviewed a couple of women that sounded like I feel. The show equated the compulsion to keep things with a compulsion to eat, and the other featured story was a 1200-lb. man. As it says on the site where I looked up the show, "More than 700,000 Americans are believed to suffer from Compulsive Hoarding Syndrome, an inability to discard even worthless items. Many other people can relate to a desire to collect or keep things that others might consider junk." While I'm not as bad as the people they interviewed, I did identify with the people in the story. I am afraid of throwing away piles of things. I feel attachments to things other people wouldn't think twice about discarding. For instance, I hate to throw away a newspaper or magazine I haven't read yet, and when I do read the paper, I'm constantly clipping articles to use or share. I see many things as treasures and too many things as important. I know how little things can trigger a memory, and as a writer, I need triggers for my mind to feel fertile.

4. Speaking of fertility, and this is only weird according to others: I've been pregnant and/or breastfeeding for all but one of the last seven years. And honestly, I miss being pregnant (but just a little... I don't miss getting up during the night! I bought a book at the end of my last pregnancy called Pregnancy Sucks because it made me laugh aloud in Barnes & Noble). But the other part of that is the breastfeeding. I never quit my job, so I pumped milk for Carmen, Gabe & Paloma, one year each. Paloma is almost 17 months old and still nurses at least 3 times a day. Yes, she eats all kinds of food. Yes, she has teeth. But like Carmen and Gabriel, I want Paloma to decide when she's ready to stop nursing. I found this nice quote that describes weaning:
In ancient writings, the word "wean" meant "to ripen" --- like a fruit nourished to readiness, its time to leave the vine… Weaning was a joyous occasion because a weaned child was valued as a fulfilled child; a child was so filled with the basic tools of the earlier stages of development that she graduated to take on the next stage of development more independently.
As long as I'm on the subject, I'm including links to a funny book about breastfeeding and my favorite book to give first-time moms on the subject (which is also quite funny, btw). Another thing that makes me weird? In the following in a great article online:
"In the U.S., where only 36% of women are nursing at six months and only 14% do so exclusively (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention & U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2003), nursing mothers often feel alone, invisible, and unheard. They get the message that their experience, their “story,” doesn't matter. But enormous value exists in breastfeeding stories, both for the teller and the listener." So, I guess you could call me a lactivist or a militant breastfeeding mom, because I think this sums up my views:
"Let's make the world a place where breastfeeding works better for mothers and babies!"

5. I guess my career path is pretty weird. After college the best job I could find was as a bartender (I opened Friday's Front Row at the Ballpark in Arlington, when it was called that). Next, I was a police officer. I figured if my guy friends could do it, so could I. But it was not my calling. I dreaded going to work on midnight shift, whereas I loved volunteering with a team of 4th grade girls at my mom's school, so I decided to go back and get my teaching certificate. That required a year of student teaching, so I had to find a job where I could work nights and weekends. That led me to t.v. news, where I met my husband. Kind of a strange career path; must've been a divine plan! What will I be next? Technology trainer? Librarian? Photographer? Personal trainer? This time of the year, I start wondering.

6. And I saved the big thing for last. I haven't blogged here about it before, but there's no time like the present.

I'm a birthmother. I never wanted that to be a secret, but I respected my parents' wishes and kept quiet about it with my extended family for all of these years. But the time for silence is up: 18 years ago this month, I gave birth to my firstborn, a perfect baby boy. I chose the couple that would become his parents in an "open" adoption that turned out not to be very open at all. (In 18 years, I have received 4-5 pictures every 2-3 years and a few one-paragraph notes.) And now I'm trying to decide how to (or if I should) contact him for his birthday. One of the big hopes of my life is that I'll get to know him; that we'll be a part of each other's lives. My heart is pounding just from writing that sentence, however. It's my big, bold, prayer that I'm sharing with the world. But I've always believed, deep in my heart, that if I did the "right thing" back then, God would not let me hurt over it forever.

I'm soliciting the advice of everyone I know on the subject and it's hard to believe how many people's lives have been touched one way or another by adoption. Of course, the advice I've received so far is as different as the people who have offered it. I'm soaking all of it in, but I have to make a decision soon. I've been waiting for this chance for 18 years!

In 1989, with me:


With his family, in a picture they took when they were seeking to adopt another baby:

Around 1st grade:

And a few with his sister:



When he was in a friend-of-the-family's wedding in Scotland:


and with his mom in Rome:


One of the reasons I've never put anything on my profile is that this segmented part of my life is so much a part of me, I can't leave it out. So, thanks for asking, Charis!

I have written quite a lot on this subject, but I will never finish this post if I keep adding to it. So please pray for me to hear God's voice as I seek guidance about this in the next few months.