Vardalos - Instant Mom

For my daughter:
I thought I knew love and then I met you.

CONTENTS

THIS IS THE BEFORE-I-START-TYPING
PROLOGUE

Im nervous.

To be honest, Im sweating like Ive just accidentally bought pot cookies in a tiny foreign municipality with faint ties to the UN.

So I get up and walk around my office.

Im really perspiring. But like many of us, I dont exude that sexy JLo gyrating in a music video golden-hued glow. No. When Im anxious, I have a gray, sallow pallor and a shiny upper lip of sweat beads glistening through a stubborn mustache that wont respond to the gabillion dollars Ive spent on laser treatments.

Great. Now my forehead is oily. By tomorrow I will grow a new zit there, and my husband will start the day speaking directly to it.

I pause now and open a window. Breathing deeply, I think about going downstairs to the kitchen. Again.

I cant stop stalling. Stalling is a euphemism for snacking.

In the kitchen, I grab celery sticks and mineral water. Okay, fine, thats a complete fabrication and what the romantic-comedy movie version of me would do. In reality I gobble down a Yoo-hoo and a Ho Ho.

Back in my office, I sit down again and stare at this page.

Writing a book is unfamiliar territory for me.

When My Big Fat Greek Wedding came out, I politely demurred to the kind requests to write a career memoir. My two reasons were simple: Id feel like a blowhard dispensing industry advice. And as some film critics would agree, I dont know much.

I dont want to write some career memoir with a quaint title in ironic font, like Im Not Pretty But Im Photogenic. Hmmm, how about Youre Never Too Fat for a New Purse ? I do love purses. Most ladies know we can upgrade a dull outfit or gloomy mood by just switching out a purse. Could I simply write about my accessories mania... ?

Im stalling again. Since typing the first paragraph, I have gotten up three times for snacks. Not good. Maybe I can walk off these extra calories by pacing. Im trying that now. Im walking through the house. My dogs are following as if were all in the love montage of a Disney movie.

I worry if Im doing the right thing in telling this story.

When the adoption of our daughter was finalized, I too-tight hugged our superb social workers and asked one question: For all those years, why didnt I know about the kids in foster care waiting for parents? Their reply was carefully put: Well... weve been waiting a long time for someone like you.

Oh.

They needed a spokesperson. They needed an advocate. They needed a blabbermouth like me.

But I like my privacy.

However, like many movie reviewers and studio heads, I often wondered why the success of my first movie happened to me. Well, maybe this is the reason. Maybe Im supposed to be using my big mouth to talk about adoption.

Sometimes if something scares me, I lean right into it. Im not a brave personIm more of a fearless idiot.

So I became the spokesperson for National Adoption Day. I live in Los Angeles, and flew many times to New York to do press. But because I was firm with show producers that I wouldnt reveal anything about my fertility struggle or regarding my daughter, they would allot me only a few minutes of airtime after twenty minutes of a booted-off dancing contestant dissing the judges, or a reality celebrity talking about her sex tape.

I get it. Facts and figures about adoption are not sexy. Celebrities doing it with each other is good TV. We like those segments. Its comforting to stand around in our faded housecoats, spooning in our tasteless cereal and squinting at morning TV through last nights flaked mascara while declaring everyone a slut. And we all buy those magazines and peer at pictures of celebrities without makeup. Come on, you have a subscription and so do I. We validate and support that salacious aspect of the media we complain about for being so focused on negativity and tacky subjects.

So when it comes to adoptionif theres an irresponsible foster parent or a kid whose home placement didnt work out, the media jumps on that story because fear sells newspapers. Anxiety makes us tune in. And we do.

I couldnt play the drama game; I couldnt give those talk-show producers my personal backstory, the tragic theater they needed for a must-see segment. I only wanted to tell the nice stories. I needed to talk about how in the world of adoption, I have met astonishingly good people who strive to make a difference. Ive met great kids living in kind foster homes, who eventually age out of the system without a family to call their own. I have met people whose hearts ache to be parents, who dont know the ways to adopt. Studies have shown worldwide there are as many prospective parents as adoptable children. But some people think they dont have the financial means to adopt. Numerous people cant find credible information on how to adopt. Countless prospective parents are waiting to be matched. I was once in that position.

I now know the many ways to become a parent. Sure, some methods are expensive and time-consuming, some can lead to heartbreak. Some work for many. Some dont. And some are amazingly simple and accessible to everyone. One way worked for me.

I dont want to come across as a proponent for motherhood for all women. Of course its not for everyone. Needless to say, its completely possible to live a wholly splendid life without children. I wont send my gender careening back into the Dark Ages with any suggestions that were unfulfilled without motherhood. This applies to men too. Of course parenthood isnt for everyone. Its a choice. While there is pressure on all of us to get married and have babies, it would be absurd to suggest its the right fit for everyone. So this book isnt saying that at all.

In the same way, when I was having difficulty becoming a mother, I was assured by good friends and my supportive family that I could be happy without parenthood. Observing my completely fulfilled professional friends and family who did not have children, I tried to accept this was what was intended for me.

But I wanted a family and had to walk over hot coals to find my daughter.

Being a mother... actually being my daughters mother has changed me. My daughter filled a raggedy hole in my heart. She is the love of my life.

When (brace yourself for a humblebrag) I received an award in Washington, in my speech, I vowed to continue to spread the word about adoption. Inwardly, I knew the reality: its been tricky to get the word out. But the occasions I was given more airtime, like on The View and The Talk, yielded incredibly positive results. The director of a child-placement agency told me they got so many hits, their site crashed. She said, Keep talking, the kids are flying out the door.

But how do I keep talking? As I said, its not like the morning talk-show circuit is itching to have me dryly list facts and figures about adoption. Im not getting starring roles in hipster movies that will yield more talk-show bookings. I dont want to get airtime by making a sex tape with someone in celebrity rehab. I mean, not right now. So I wondered how I could disseminate adoption information.

Both (here comes some name-dropping) Katie Couric and Joy Behar urged me to write an adoption book about my real experience. I said Id think it over, which is my polite way of shrieking, No waaaaaaaaaaaay.

Then this happened: a friend asked me to counsel her friend who was going through infertility. I hesitated. The mutual friends entreating expression affected me, reminding me I was once in that position, reaching out for help. So I met with the woman. In a private, quiet setting, we began to talk, she told me her story... then she asked what had happened to me. And... I told her my story. I chronicled the events that led me to adoption. I told her the truth and understood why I hadnt wanted to tell the real story before. Its because I am an inherently optimistic person and I wanted to move on from that bleak time, not revisit it.