Tunnel vision

Tunnel vision.
That is how I would sum up parental love in two words.
Forget the sleepless nights, the discipline (or feeble attempts at disciplining), the worries over every fever and rash, the house that looks like Bagdad after the victory in the War on Terror, the bits of spaghetti imbedded in the wooden floor, the felt-pen art on the bedroom wall, the excruciating music from l'Ane Trotto (Trotto rigolo, my arse, if I hear it once more, I may take out my frustration on the poor DVD player), the loud exclamation "Chat!" each time she sees a cat on blipfoto (that's a LOT), the vomit and the hundreds of thousands of nappies, the laughter and tears in frighteningly close succession (and vice versa), the ability to fall on sharp objects and the price of kiddies wellies.
Forget all of that.
That is the peripheral. That does not matter.
What matters is here, right in front of me, in the tunnel vision.
My little Mimi at 7.15am, all excited because she is allowed to brush her teeth on her own.

She doesn't even have that many teeth...



Did I just do this or am I hallucinating?
I must have just taken a shot of my 16 months old daughter through a bog-roll?
There is photographic evidence. The things that blipfoto makes you do...