The pitter-patter of love

These days, I barely get time to myself. I shifted house recently, and there are so many pending chores, which I must get done but don’t find the time for, I’m beginning to get really annoyed at myself!Β It’s not easy; in fact, it borders on frustration most times.

And as if that was not enough, since the day I moved, everything seemed to go wrong for no reason. Mobile phone stops working. Then washing machine stops working. Then Wi-fi stops working. Then fixed-line stops working. And I call one customer care after the other, but no one comes until it’s too late and I absolutely need to get to office. Then bank transactions become a problem because mobile number changed. Everything takes over a week or two to get fixed, and I end up having to be immensely dependent on others who have better things to do in life than make customer-care calls on my behalf. NOT to my liking. At all.

And when there is so much work that I am ending up staying more at office than at home, all this gets tougher to deal with. Especially so, when I know there are two tiny tots all alone at home, all day, waiting for my return.

The past two weeks, especially, have been extremely tough. With an official travel thrown in too, at short notice. I’ve been coming home really late. And then staying up later, ending up heavily sleep deprived. Most nights when I reach home, I’m so dead tired that I’m scared to even lean against the walls of the elevator, lest I fall asleep there πŸ˜›

And every single day, I walk out of the lift, into the corridor, towards my door — and I desperately wish I had someone to come home to. Well, ok…not just “someone”, but my mom (which would mean “food, laughter and comfort” readily available).

It’s about 20 steps, from the lift to my door. In that short span, I wonder why I’m doing this, why things could not be different, why I can’t just quit and go home to good old Trivandrum, why the hell there is so much work, how the hell I’m to find time for personal chores, how life is so devoid of joy, how I’m tired and do not have the energy to cook and clean up, how all I want to do is just make a beeline to my bed and crash…

This is about the time I reach my door, pull out the key, insert it into the lock…and invariably shake my head at the HUGE smile that’s on my just-a-micro-second-ago-grumpy-and-tired face.

Because I hear the pitter-patter of love, from the other side of the door, asΒ Pumbaa and Khloe jump off the sofa and run to the door to welcome me home.

As I get in, it is a mad rush of Pumbaa welcoming me by jumping all over me and then skidding across the living room, grabbing his toy and rushing back at me…and Khloe continuing to jump all over me till I pet her enough.

Fatigue, annoyance, despair, sleep: everything’s taken care of! I’m a happy soul again. I play with him, I cook their food, fix something for self, I feed them, I clean up, I play with him some more. And then, I hug them both tight and apologize for being away too long, and thank them both for the understanding, the patience and the unconditional love.

It’s this pitter-patter of love that keeps me going. I don’t know what I’d do without it.

Image

Pumbaa and Khloe, back on the sofa, 5 mins after I sternly told them it is off limits. Sigh. Well, they let me cover it at least. πŸ™‚

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16 thoughts on “The pitter-patter of love

  1. Oh my God. Reminds me of my little kitty Multi who greets me enthusiastically each evening. She sits by the front door and mews in delight when I am back. She knows then that it will soon be time for an evening snack.
    What an adorable post. Makes me want to pet a dog, it does.

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