I’ll be in L.A. in less than a month, and now that most of the pre-pilot work has been done, and the holidays have past, I seem to be feeling a touch rushed and a bit sentimental. It’s real now.
I’m excited. I’m taping a pilot. PINCH ME (just not on a squishy part, here, let me stick my clavicle out, pinch me there).
But somewhere in my chest, toward the back, behind my heart or something, is a little piece of me that realizes what this really means. I’m leaving my kids, my husband, my house for a week or two at a time, and it’s making me a bit teary.
Logically, I know this is something I have to do. It was a conversation my husband and I had, a decision we made together, excitement we share. I was adamant about being able to bring my family along as much as I could, and the benefit of working with a producer and actors who are also parents means they “got it.”
I’m excited to travel. I’m excited to show my family the world. I just never realized how adorable my kids’ breathing noises were, or how much I would miss refilling their sippy cups, or wiping them, or asking them to please stop touching each other there, YES THERE.